Chapter 1: Duality
Notes:
This story is something I've been writing for a while, for my comfort character Venti and a means to express what I wished the story quests could have been like. I hope you enjoy it!
Chapter Text
He woke to the pungent stench of fear on the wind.
Waking to the feeling of a head full of wool and heavier than stone was unpleasant, to say the least. The winds, sensing his return, stirred in urgency, rushing to answer the call of their god. They swirled and coalesced, solidifying into the form of a long-forgotten bard clad in viridian and white. Pure, unbridled Anemo brimmed at the tips of his hair and depths of his eyes, the divine essence of a deity leaking through the illusion. Within moments, a boyish youth floated in the space where mortals dreamed to reach, high in the reaches of the skies above Mondstadt.
Well, what had once been Mondstadt in an age long gone.
The remnants of the old city sprawled beneath him like a skeleton picked clean by time. Once, these spires had sung with wind and life; now they stood crumbled and hollow, their stones gnawed away by centuries and silence. Strange, glowing seals clung to fractured buildings like scabs, and at the city’s edge; a violent magical barrier twisted and shimmered, barring entry as though the ruins themselves had turned hostile. The atmosphere was choked with wrongness. Even without concentrating, he could feel it in the way the air currents broke — jagged, disturbed, barely holding together.
How long had he been asleep this time? What had disturbed the bones of his old home?
Most importantly… what had woken him up?
He got his answer when a torrent of pleas and cries slammed into him like a hammer to the skull.
Lord Barbatos have mercy!
Save us!
What in the wretched abyss–?
The winds whirled in chaos, thick with frantic prayers too raw to be mistaken for anything else. He nearly choked on the despair and terror bleeding into his mind — bitter, desperate — as he heard people, his people, cry for salvation.
Then came the stench. A turbulent gust brought with it the unmistakable tang of blood – fouled, metallic, fresh.
Somewhere, something — or far too many someones — was bleeding.
And in that moment, it became impossible to fight the chill sliding down his spine.
Screw this.
Drawing on the Gnosis, he reached deep and cast his awareness outward, as far as his powers would allow. There was simply not enough time to gather information the normal way.
If something was causing this much turbulence — spilling so much blood he could taste it while miles above in the goddamned sky — then he would take any shortcut to find out what in the blazes was happening. Somewhere, even higher than where he was now, he swore he could feel a smug chuckle at his expense.
Well damn them.
And their high horses.
Or whatever the hell they rode in on.
With dizzying speed, his awareness stretched to the cardinal points of the land and sky, an invisible blanket of energy unfurling across the breadth of his domain. Anchored by the ancient pillars of the Four Winds, his senses merged with the currents that flowed over every hill, valley and ruin.
A twinge settled in his chest. Everything felt… different. Off-kilter. The winds had shifted in ways that only centuries could explain.
He had slept too long.
But there would be time to mourn that later.
Images, scents, and sounds flashed past, too many, too fast, until—
Shit!
He barely had time to recoil when a brilliant, furious lance of Anemo exploded in his face.
All too quickly, his confusion was replaced with pain — burning, searing pain spreading across the skin on his mortal guise.
This was wrong.
Anemo shouldn’t even be able to touch him, much less burn with the fury of hellfire. As he reeled from the improbability of Anemo damaging him, the Anemo Archon, a shadow fell over him.
A maw — vast, jagged, and far too close — opened wide enough to swallow him whole.
Dvalin.
A tainted, bone-chillingly familiar sensation crawled over his skin at the sight. Viridian scales were stained with fouled blood. Wingbeats too heavy to be his. Eyes glazed over in unfocused fury and pain.
Suddenly, it made perfect sense why a wind-borne blast had nearly blown him out of the sky.
Oh no.
Dvalin threw his head back and roared, madness and fury shrouding his form in a bitter, toxic miasma. Instincts screamed at his body to move and the wind god quickly dispersed his form, narrowly avoiding getting split in two by dragon claws the length of pillars. Massive wings eclipsed the moon above, and with one powerful, debilitating gust Dvalin disappeared, with the lingering darkness of his abyssal taint being the only evidence that he was ever there.
This… was not going to be an easy situation to untangle.
Surprisingly, Barbatos’ first call to action wasn't to charge after his draconic friend.
His last remaining friend, the one roaring in pain, shrieking in agony, confused and hurt and leaking tainted blood all over the plains—
He shelved the panic away for the moment, even as anxiety-ridden prayers continued to pour in and mingle with his frayed thoughts. He may not be renowned in history for his skills as a tactician, but he has survived wars twice over and so he knows a little something called ‘gathering your wits’.
Zipping to the various ancient domains, he steeled himself to touch base with what remained of the Four Winds, if only to get a more detailed lay of the land. Contrary to whatever mortals may think, his Gnosis was not a source of omniscience.
And too much has changed. The lands looked extremely different from what he last remembered.
The ancient wards around the Gunnhildr estate remained strong, their groundskeepers tending to the constructs as fervently as the day they were established. The great oak stood proudly in place, something which relieved him to no end. Dvalin’s perch in the mountains was, unsurprisingly, abandoned. Andrius’ arena was last, and the old wolf spirit materialised as he touched down, eyeing the wind god with a deeply melancholic glint in his otherwise icy gaze.
“If even you have been roused, Lord Barbatos, then...” the wolf spirit sighed sadly, his breath streaming out as a fine, chilly mist. “It is certain. Dvalin has truly abandoned his post and lost his mind.”
“He is not yet a lost cause,” the Anemo Archon insisted. “I will free him.”
More anxious prayers flitted into his mind, and Barbatos struggled not to incline his ear. He needed to stay focused.
“How?” Andrius wondered, and it was hard to not feel despair at the justified disbelief in his tone. “You possess knowledge to undo a corruption that has felled the gods before you?” His eyes flicked to the skies briefly in worry. “A corruption that even they avoid?”
“I have to try something,” Venti muttered. The methods that came to mind were pitifully few, shamefully crude and wildly dangerous — both for Dvalin and himself. He could not even be sure that they would work. But he’s an Archon, and pulling off miracles is technically part of his purview. He had to trust that for all the difficulties it has brought, his two millennia of godhood would not be completely useless at navigating this latest challenge.
Even if the last instance of dealing with the Abyss ended with widespread death and destruction for both man and divine.
Yeah, it was probably best not to think about that.
Andrius gave him a knowing glance. “Barbatos...”
“I promise I will be careful, old friend.” It was probably the only promise he could keep.
The heavy sigh that the old wolf released nearly froze the edges of his cloak solid. “My apologies,” he intoned gravely. “Had I more strength, I could help shoulder the risk.”
The smile he returned was genuine and filled with warmth. “I know. But as I do not hold it against you, so too should you not do so for yourself.” He reached out towards the windswept tufts of fur, his fingers grazing icy aether as they phased through the spirit’s form. “You have done your part for Mondstadt enough.”
He tried his best not to imagine what it must have been like for the wolf, to watch a comrade lose their senses and descend into madness. To stew and simmer, unable to leave his post while the lands he pledged to protect burned. To question his ultimate sacrifice, wondering if he had chosen wrong to relinquish his power when it could have helped to prevent such a downfall. To wait in place; alone, unheard, while the only other possible being that could stop this remained in unknowing, slumbering stasis.
The shame burned Venti like fire.
Slate-blue eyes glowed with warning. “You would be wise to take your own advice, it seems.”
He stuck his tongue out at the wolf. “Did you suddenly develop clairvoyance while I was asleep?”
“No. Merely a keener eye for detail,” he answered matter-of-factly. “In light of that, is there anything I can do for you, Lord Barbatos?”
“Tell me everything that’s happened.”
So the old wolf did. Of how the city of humans found their footing in the wake of his last intervention. Of the ebb and flow of peace, and Dvalin’s eventual rejection by the very people he swore to protect, the first act that would drive him into the clutches of darkness. Finally, he told of the turmoil on the winds and the encroaching miasma on the lands, of Dvalin’s festering corruption feeding its strength and it feeding his erosion in turn.
“I have tried to reason with him,” Andrius growled. “But that child would not listen. Now, his fury bars him from heeding my call while his power poisons the old temples and terrorises the people. Were my influence not bound here, I would track him down even to the edge of the Haar islands to bring my teeth to his neck.”
He did not doubt the spirit’s words. Andrius in his prime would likely have smote the skies to bring Dvalin down. His heart ached at the thought. “Has he hurt the people?”
Andrius pawed the ground uncomfortably. It chilled the god’s blood like ice. “At least their young can find shelter under my wards,” the spirit rumbled after a moment’s silence.
The bard lowered his head into his hands. “This cannot continue.”
The wolf spirit’s expression turned pensive. “No, it cannot. Whatever preparations you must make, I suggest you make so with haste. And please.” He affixed him with a solemn look. “Be careful, Barbatos. A storm brews on the horizon, and I do not wish for its poison to claim the mind of another friend.”
He dearly hoped so too. There were so scant few left of beings he could call friends, after all.
She woke to the caustic tang of salt on the wind.
Gold eyes blinked blearily as hazy vision swam sluggishly into focus; the soupy, kaleidoscopic mess of colours slowly resolving into the sight of an unfamiliar sky. Her limbs, lead-like and trembling with fatigue, burned with a bone-deep ache as they heeded lazily to her call. Movement became a strenuous endeavour, and the rough ground beneath her rewarded her struggle with pinpricks of pain across her skin. A dull, noisy roar echoed overhead; cutting through the cottony, overstuffed sensation in her brain that pressed into the back of her skull and throbbed painfully behind her eyes.
No, not a roar, she surmised. It was too regular, too rhythmic to simply be noise.
Cold seeped into her skin as she took in her surroundings. Nothing she laid eyes on sparked familiarity; not the foamy waves rolling ashore, not the jagged cliffs that loomed overhead, and most certainly not the empty, nondescript stretch of stone and sand she was on. She shivered as a gust of wind, wet and icy, blew by. Exposed, uncertain and disoriented — years of finely-honed instincts warned that she was basically a sitting duck if she did not get her ass moving.
She lurched forward, the movement causing the world to spin. Nausea and pain washed over her in equal measure. Stars, what could have made her like this? She hasn’t been this thoroughly debilitated since that accident in her youth, when inexperience had sent her into a dizzying freefall that ended in an unceremonious crash into a mountain face-first.
Oh, that idiot sibling of hers had laughed his blonde ass off then—
Cold turned to ice.
Mind exploding into a panic, she instinctively reached out toward the celestial spark within; the part of her that was as old as the stars that spun in the cool, teal skies of her birthplace. It was one of the few constants that she could carry with her from land to land — a tether to the only other being she could call home amidst her nomadic journey across the celestial atlas.
It was with muted, gut-plunging horror that she came up empty.
She dove deep within her, scrambling and clawing after whatever threads of starsparks she could. Gold, aetherial light that should have bloomed at her call and filled her with the familiar hum of celestial resonance was nowhere to be found. Instead, what she got was a fizzled, weakened flash of stellar sparks; no brighter than the pathetic flecks of cosmic dust that blew helplessly through the solar winds of her birthplace.
A sharp crack of pain shot through her, sending her crumpling into the sand with a pitiful groan. Her throat burned as she rasped in agony.
And the memories came flooding in.
Skies darkened by towers of smoke. The smell of ash on the wind. Panicked cries and desperate screams permeating the air. A heavy, ominous miasma covering the earth. Alien darkness reeking of death and madness, poisoning the mind and warping the body. Adrenaline pumping through her as she weaved through valleys, storm clouds and lightning. Traps everywhere while hunting dogs nipped at her heels. Just a bit further, she told herself then. Just a bit more and we’re free.
Soft eyes of gold, the only across the myriads of worlds to mirror to her own, boring desperately into hers as they ran. Searching for hers at every turn, burning with defiance at each obstacle.
The same soft eyes of gold, wide with shock and fear, smothered by a torrent of black and red fueled by the cold indifference of a furious god.
She lifted her voice and wailed.
If the millennia spent as a nomad has taught her anything, it was that you can’t tackle a problem if you’re incapacitated or dead. Ergo, the best way to begin the process of seeking solutions was to prolong your survival enough to get on your feet.
So she did.
Agonisingly slowly, but she did.
Days turned into weeks as she ran through her mental checklist like the last several thousand times she’s done so: Shelter. Water. Warmth. Food. Security. Each sounding stupidly simple in theory, but far more difficult in practice while convalescing, stripped of one’s abilities and working with fragmented memories. It was, she noted bitterly, a lot tougher going about alone when you’ve spent your entire lifetime sharing the physical and mental demands of surviving.
But it wasn't her first rodeo either. There were worlds they’ve visited where remaining incognito and appearing mundane was as crucial to their lives as breathing. Encounters that got them so embroiled in trouble that survival actually became a challenging endeavour.
Granted, she was rarely ever this incapacitated — few things truly had the power to damage them to such an extent. Such was the boon of those born of the stars, of those who embodied the boundless vitality and enduring might of the cosmos. They were Travelers — beings built to wander the vast atlas of the universe and endure the harshest conditions existence could conjure.
Yet, her predicament was a sobering reminder that they were not the largest fish in the proverbial pond. They were by no means weak; there were plenty of places where their abilities could have let them walk as gods among men. But the universe was vast, more vast than any mind could hope to imagine. And for every giant star that could pull entire systems of planets into its orbit, there would be a titan dwarfing it with its radiance and subsuming the giant under a cosmic path of its own.
For what were Travelers — survivalist extraordinaires — compared to gods that could breathe and shape entire spheres of existence into being?
And what a bitter reminder that was as she hauled herself across pitifully small distances with trembling legs and tired steps. But true to her nature, she was a survivor. She was made of stars, built to endure.
Even at its nadir, a star can still burn bright.
And so she fought on. Steadily, strength returned where it once fled. The haze of exhaustion receded, with clarity and sharpness taking its place. Every day, she ventured further from her shelter, transitioning from gathering to hunting. She even picked up a dull, discarded blade amidst a cluster of rocks. It was nothing compared to her missing personal weapon, but it was a useful addition to her otherwise pitifully lacking arsenal of flightlessness and fists.
Eventually, she was able to gather enough strength to go beyond surviving and into the first step of exploration. With a deep breath, she breached the line of trees that has served as her imagined boundary for weeks on end.
What greeted her stole her breath away.
The sky — now unbroken — hung far above her head like an infinite canvas of blue dotted with white. Before her was now a vast, seemingly endless expanse of verdant green and rolling hills. A warm breeze brushed past, rustling her scarf and carrying the scent of dew and wildflowers. Soft, loamy soil shifted underneath her footsteps as she strode through the tall grass, her movements sending little creatures scampering away. A massive mountain loomed in the distance, its summit ringed with dense clouds and illuminated by strange lights.
The land was nature unbound and unrestricted. It was vibrant, alive and most interestingly, absolutely teeming with magic. With her senses now restored, she could feel the foreign energy thrumming in the air and permeating the earth; even flowing through the various creatures that wandered about within her field of view. Her own cosmic essence hummed along with the dense matrix of energy about her, ready to resonate with the steady flow of magic. The wonders and possibilities such a world must have, with magic this responsive and pervasive.
An absolute pity then, that she must experience such awed musings by herself. The pang of sadness hit her like a gut punch, and her chest clenched painfully in answer.
She took a steadying breath. Her brother still lived, of this she was certain. Their tether was suppressed but not smothered, weakened but not broken. She cannot pinpoint where he is — that ugly, annoying seal keeping the rest of her powers at bay — but the small, nearly insignificant pulse of gold that was uniquely his was proof that he was alive.
He is here. She just needed to find him.
The enormity of it all sent a bolt of trepidation jolting down her spine. There was no telling how long the process of searching would take. Not to mention what she would encounter in a land overflowing with so much magical energy.
She will have to seek help, somehow. There was only so much she could do with her limited knowledge, so much ground she could cover by her lonesome. Add to that the fact that she could not tell how much time had already passed since… She could only hope in her brother’s bull-headed determination, cunning wits and sturdy constitution.
Wait for me, brother. I will find you.
She does not consider herself a particularly vengeful being. Generally, she preferred to use her gifts to help others and pave the way for the next adventure rather than grasp for whatever passed for justice. And experience has repeatedly proven that it was ultimately wiser to live and let live, so as to not stir the pot too much.
On the other hand, her brother did point out that wisdom wasn’t always her greatest strength.
For despite what wisdom says about how terrible of an idea it would be, she knows that when she finds the god that took him away, there is little that can stop her from throwing the first punch.
And it would be absolutely worth it.
The first time the wind carried news of her, she was a disembodied voice adrift in a sea of noise.
Venti the bard stood in the clearing, letting the breeze wash over him. The air was silent save for the rustling of leaves and grass, and heavy with the scent of dew. The open space within the cluster of forest gave free reign for wind to blow, and he could feel his strength bolstering with each comforting breeze that flowed by.
Anxious prayers continued to be carried to him, filling his ear with a worried buzz. His people were not yet soothed, and how could they be? Dvalin still haunted their waking hours, his madness bearing a promise of violence and destruction among them.
Fear not, little ones.
Pulling up Der Frühling, he ran practised fingers across the strings, playing an airy melody of breezy lightness and summer’s warmth. The winds stirred and danced to his tune, ever obedient to the call of their god, and the air about him blossomed with a dense influx of pure Anemo. Careful to modulate the appropriate tones, he weaved the incoming energies into a series of sigils and runes, transforming the empty clearing into a temporary domain under his control.
The art of domain construction was an ancient one that mainly saw use in times long past. Times where carving out even the smallest of areas of control amidst the tumult of war could mean the difference between life and death. With luck, this domain would be able to serve as a strong enough anchor for his plan, and not share in the bloody history that the construct was known for.
It would spell disaster if the city were to lose their god on his first direct attempt at cleansing the rampaging dragon.
Technically, he could have asked for help. Even after his long absence, there were still the faithful few — quiet voices drifting amidst terrified ones, asking for purpose instead of safety, offering to build a solution rather than begging for one. If only he would just reach out to answer them; one word, and they would move in his name.
But that was precisely why he couldn’t.
This was his mess. And thus, his alone to solve.
If losing a god would spell disaster, then losing them — the mortals who still wanted to help, even after everything — would be unforgivable.
Satisfied with the settling of the sigils, he turned to altering his tune once more. Strumming faster, he funneled more Anemo energy into the little domain, the lively tune bidding the energy to build until the very air around him began to glow with concentrated power.
With his usual connection to Dvalin blocked by abyssal influence, and without the focused power of Der Himmel, it became much harder to sound the call that would summon his longtime friend. Thus, all that was left was to use the most brute-force way possible to get his attention.
He hoped that the Vision wielders within the city wouldn’t get too much of a heart attack from what he was about to do. The swell of Anemo surged about him as it continued to build, resonating and amplifying until the energies rose into a crescendo. With one final flick he lets them go, generating an invisible and silent but massive burst of energy.
Please come, friend.
With an additional glide across the strings, he directed a lingering breeze that resulted from his burst to blow over a nearby dandelion field and sent it towards the city. A sea of white swirled and danced in the currents, the fluffy seeds floating higher and higher, eventually floating over the skies of Mondstadt.
It would hardly count for much in the grand scheme of things, but it was the least he could do in answer to soothe the fears of the mortals that called his lands home.
I’m here. I’m still listening.
The buzzing worry on the winds melted into mild surprise and relief as his people noticed the sea of dandelion seeds drifting over their heads. That was comforting at least.
Don’t worry, I’ll put an end to this soon.
Now, with his tune finished and position carried to the skies, all he had to do was wait.
Suddenly, his attention was drawn to a single, gentle voice on the wind. Another prayer to him, though this one originated from one of his statues, not from the city nor abodes that littered the land. That wasn’t necessarily out of the ordinary — there were various reasons for people to pray to him while out in the wilds. This disembodied voice was merely another one in a sea of voices that called upon his name.
I am a sojourner of these unknown lands.
Well then.
A strong undercurrent of sorrow flowed within that statement, tinging the words with a heavy, weighty sadness. It was a despair that only came with a great loss or significant upheaval, the kind that would completely upend a person’s world. And yet, there was an underlying steel beneath the declaration, one that caught his attention and heeded him to take pause.
I have neither offering nor tribute, only my person. If the god of wind would not consider it a sin to incline their ear, I humbly plead that they extend this mercy.
He wondered how long ago it has been since he had last received such a formally worded and impersonal prayer, if ever. Not even the most pious of sisters in the Cathedral spoke their supplications with such caution. The only time he has ever heard such detached formality was on the lips of Decarabian’s most devout, and they poured out words that were meant to soothe and avoid offence as far as possible.
That made him sputter. The last he checked he was certainly not a tyrant, and he had taken great pains to ensure that his — mostly — good repute was properly recorded in the annals of Mondstadt and its church. So either this person was being deliberately obtuse, or they spoke truly.
His curiosity piqued, he decided to allow his awareness to flow into his statue. He had to see for himself this curious individual that spoke with such formality, whose words held in equal parts sorrow and steel.
What greeted him was the sight of a girl clad in ivory and blue. Gold tresses crowned her head, which was bowed in reverence while a single, slender hand rested on the cool stone of his statue. Her features were refined and soft, brimming with youthful radiance not unlike that of the ladies of old, before the aristocracy began their descent into decadent madness. Gold eyes burned bright with determination, even as she bore words tinged with intense sorrow and uncertainty.
Nonetheless, he could not ignore the distinct thread of starlight that hummed within her. It was unlike anything he had ever seen; not like the blazing brightness of the sun that hung over them both, and certainly not like the cool rays of moonlight that bathed the lands at dusk. It was a soft, warm glow of celestial gold, deeper than the lustre of her hair and ethereal like the constellations that peppered the skies.
The visage that beheld those words of prayer was young indeed, but only the blind would mistake that essence for anything but ancient and otherworldly.
An outlander.
He should be cautious of such entities. Their appearance usually heralded the onset of titanic shifts in the natural order and he already has his hands very full, thank you very much. But there was something about this particular one that gave him pause. Her beauty and presence was breathtaking to behold, but it also tugged at him, filling him with a deep nostalgia. It was like gazing through clouded glass, staring at an image more vision than flesh — less like reality and more the lilting notes of a half-forgotten ode, the still-frames of a half-remembered dream. It drew his notice and held his attention; millennia of honed instincts nagging him to regard her with interest rather than suspicion.
Perhaps it was the vulnerability in her expression, the echo of a trauma so deep it left a tangible imprint on her spirit. Perhaps it was the undertone of steel that belied her soft appearance — noble fire burning beneath her celestial light, like the tragic notes of a battle hymn that refused to die. Or perhaps it was the sheer fortuity of her emergence in a time where a growing disturbance was bleeding into the ley lines of the earth itself. Her appearance right now of all times could not be a coincidence. She was mysterious; a unique entity even in a land full of secrets and exceptions.
I seek nothing save for my brother, who was taken from me. The lands remain yours and the fruits of it under your power. Only pray that the god of wind would be willing to grant this one mercy, that I may be guided to my sibling so that we can reunite once more.
His eyes widened when the winds rose in answer, swirling about and flowing from his statue and into her being. Winds that were under his influence, now answering her unvoiced call for strength and aid.
Now that got his full attention.
He observed her fascination, the marvel that coloured her features as she stared at her hands in wonder. Anemo swirled at her fingertips, and the crystals that adorned her raiment glowed with the signature teal of his element. Instead of the typical rush that came with the culmination of a person’s struggle for their ideals, where the energies of the world would crystallise in answer to an individual’s exceptional spirit; there was only the silent, muted sensation of resonance. Like she was the magical locus itself, reacting and humming with the elemental energy that resided within his statue and turning herself into an extension of his element’s flow and reach.
Very strange indeed. But then again, where was the surprise in that? She was obviously not of this world, and so it was only logical that she would not be beholden to its rules.
What other rules would she break with her presence here? Why was she here anyway? And why was the sight of her so achingly familiar? There were too many questions. Invisible eyes flicked to the sky above.
A smile blossomed on her face then, and it was a heady rush to behold the gleam of relief in her golden eyes. Like a spark reigniting a dying flame, so was the flash of hope that brightened her expression and made her essence radiate with starlight. It was both mesmerising and distracting to watch, and he could not tear his eyes away. She reached out to touch the stone once more, and he felt more than heard the hopeful gratitude in her words. A warmth bloomed within him in response as the simplest of words were conveyed to him, backed by a depth of sincerity that told of a mirrored depth of pain.
Thank you.
Had he the time, he would have followed her. There was too much mystery in her to ignore. The winds of change now danced at her fingertips, and instinct tugged at him to watch where she would go. But an ominous wind kicked up, snapping him to attention where his physical body was.
Dvalin was approaching.
He steeled himself, finding a strange kinship with the feeling of steel he had observed mere moments ago. With luck, there would be time to seek her out later.
He should have known better than to hope for luck to be on his side.
Just as he established the connection between himself and Dvalin, he felt it. A flare of Anemo, tinged with an otherworldly energy. A gasp, followed by a distinct sound of confusion.
Dvalin freaked.
The dragon launched into a frenzy, roaring and gnashing wildly. Abyssal poison began to pour out of him in droves, tearing at the seams of his minor domain and leaking into their connection. Ancient voices whispering in a long-forgotten tongue filled his mind as the poison seeped into him like an oily shadow, burning his awareness like a raging fire.
Panicking, Venti severed the makeshift link.
To say that it hurt like a sumbitch would be putting it lightly.
The domain was torn to ribbons in seconds. The recoil hit like a brick wall, rattling him to the bone. He barely dodged a swipe that would have split his mortal shell in two, gasping in pain as the corruption licked his nerves raw.
Teal eyes flicked upwards, locking with a pair in gold a distance away, across the clearing.
Domain gone, concentration broken and himself badly tainted, the Anemo Archon had little choice but to make a tactical retreat before the abyss energies overwhelmed him. Dvalin himself seemed to make a similar judgement, taking off in a buffeting flurry of dirt and leaves.
Venti would have words later, once he’d found a way to counteract the poison, the price of his failure. Even if the interruption of his ill-fated ritual had occurred in ignorance.
But barely a scant few hours would pass before Dvalin homed in on the city itself with the rage of a spurned god. Funnelling the disturbed ley flows, the dragon drew the energies into his body as he circled overhead. Moments later, dark, corrupted twisters whirled to life right in the heart of the populace.
The panicked cries of the populace reached him in an instant. Venti charged into the skies, pain searing at the edges of his mind. But he could not stumble now, not with tainted cyclones threatening to rend buildings and launch helpless people into the air.
Drawing on the Gnosis once more, he willed his winds to hold the vortices in place. But Dvalin’s rage burned ever hotter and the tornadoes responded in kind, their abyssal corruption pouring out of the gales. The vortices twisted violently against his hold, threatening to shred his control to pieces.
Another sharp roar and Dvalin’s attention was suddenly drawn away. Even amidst the noisy tumult, it was easy for Venti to hear the panicked yelp from the Traveler as she was dragged into the far reaches of the sky.
Stranger or not, the god of wind was not about to let anyone else come to harm because of this.
Dispersing himself, he mingled seamlessly with his element as he coaxed the north winds into a cyclical updraft. The Traveler, still caught in a helpless tumble, was carried up and away from the worst of the abyssal winds. But Dvalin was relentless, tracking her movements as he weaved in and out of the storm clouds; a winged serpent dancing among violent gales as he stalked his prey. Venti shuddered at the rage and bloodlust in his eyes.
It’s been long since he last saw such an expression on his friend, and the last target of his ire was now lying broken beneath the rocks of Dragonspine.
Yet, the Traveler’s eyes were not dimmed. Unfurling her glider with a defiant snap, she took back control over her sudden ascent, riding the currents with a finesse that spoke volumes.
Dvalin screeched, retaliating with a barrage of attacks. Venti threw his diffused self between her and Dvalin then, desperately deflecting what he could away from them and the city. Pain exploded as the corrosion within him was amplified with the presence of the abyssal miasma within Dvalin’s winds. He hissed as a particularly sharp lance of pain coursed through him, causing his concentration to waver. His hold over the various cyclones below flickered dangerously.
Time — he needed more time. Time to heal his poisoning, time to deal with the tornadoes, time for Dvalin to just calm down for one moment–
But he’s no fool. Time would hardly be on his side, not with so many things happening at once. And the encounter in the clearing has thrown him off far more than he anticipated. Doing battle with Dvalin as he was would spell disaster for himself and the city. His mind raced. The closer he remained to his friend, the worse the pain would become. And yet, if he were to falter or leave now, the cyclones would tear the city apart.
A bolt of shame passed through him. How could a god sworn to protect his people be so weak?
That was when he noticed.
Despite the onslaught of corruption being thrown at her, the Traveler bore little to no signs of being affected. Her expression remained one of determined defiance rather than abject horror, her movements focused and controlled as opposed to maddened and erratic. And amidst the sea of miasmic poison dense enough to visibly cloud the skies; there remained a distinct zone of clarity around her, where the air — while still dangerously violent — appeared almost pure and untouched.
If he didn’t know better, it seemed like her presence was purifying the curses.
Roaring once more, Dvalin opted for a direct attack, jetting forward with his claws outstretched. The Traveler yelped as she plunged into a dive, letting out a string of curses as she lost precious altitude. Sensing her need, Venti closed the distance, letting himself buoy the wings of her glider. Girding himself with the swiftest of his winds, he carried her up and away, propelling her to safety from Dvalin’s lethal swipes.
“What the hell?” She swore in bewilderment. “How?”
Her surprise flickered through her eyes when he, on a whim, chose to answer. “I’m preventing your fall with the power of a thousand winds,” he replied, his voice reverberating through the air currents. “So feel the currents and ride true — don’t worry, I’ve got you.”
“Who are you?” she demanded, more confused than suspicious. She deftly twisted away from another barrage of tainted blasts, and Venti was now certain her presence was actively counteracting the abyssal blight around them. Even the pain that had been burning him abated in her presence, replaced with a dull throb that was far more welcome. Hope blossomed as his mind raced to put together a plan.
“That’s not important for now,” he answered, shifting the winds to steer her out of harm’s way. He couldn’t afford to let her fall here, not with this potential staring him in the face. “But while I keep you aloft, I would ask for a favour, if you would allow.”
“I’m not in the habit of making deals with disembodied voices,” she answered him bluntly with none of the formality that she had prior. A bright lance of energy flew at her, and she instinctively drew up a burst of Anemo to parry the oncoming blast, wincing at the recoil. The ease with which she was wielding his element did not go unnoticed.
Good. That might just make what he was about to ask seem slightly less mad.
“Not a deal, merely a request.” He did his best to keep his tone light. “Protect the city from the dragon’s unrest. Hold him at bay, and keep him suppressed.”
She twisted out of the way of a few more blasts. “You want me to do what?” she asked, disbelief evident in her voice.
“Only enough to repel him, so he will return to his nest. Worry not about the winds – focus on fighting your best.”
“And this is in exchange for my safety?” Wariness laced her reply — and rightly so, for she had no reason to trust him yet.
“Nothing so crass. Your safety is a priority for which you need not ask,” he protested, sweeping her out of the way of another attack in what was hopefully a show of good faith. “But the city is at risk the longer he remains, while his body will unleash his bottled curses should he be slain.” He did not want to even imagine what would happen should Dvalin’s body be critically wounded. For an elemental being like him… the explosion of abyssal power alone would likely level all of Mondstadt and Cider Lake.
For one heart stopping moment, it looked like she would refuse.
“... Very well.”
Relief flooded him at her answer. Steel flashed beneath her eyes as Anemo swirled at her fingertips anew. The frayed threads of his haphazard plan were finally drawing together, and Venti channelled a stream of Anemo energy towards her. The crystals on her garments glowed in response, burning a bright teal.
“Then concentrate," he intoned seriously. “See yourself grasp the wind and harness its energy.”
Reinvigorated, she summoned a surge of Anemo — celestial gold searing through it, burning bright. Plummeting into a dive, she sped at the dragon with a war cry, unleashing her attacks. The resulting thundering booms were rivalled only by the ear-splitting roars from Dvalin.
He forced himself to focus, to pay close attention for the slightest shift in her body to adjust his winds, even as his heart quaked with every pained cry from his friend.
Please Dvalin. He pleaded silently. Please stop.
Mercifully, Dvalin finally fled.
He followed her and the Knights around after, an invisible wisp amidst the winds that blew through the lands. Partly to observe and gather information as he planned his next move, and partly to take advantage of her cleansing presence to purge the poison within him.
As the Traveler began investigating the ancient temples, Venti made note of three crucial things about her.
First, she was tough. As in physically tough. He supposed it was a result of her otherworldly nature, but it was still remarkable to see her match the Cavalry Captain and Outrider stride for stride — as if mortal limits never applied to her. It was also breathtaking, and frankly a little alarming, to watch her weather blows that would easily shatter seasoned soldiers. Not that she was invulnerable; she still bled red, still broke like flesh and bone. But it took far more to keep her down.
Second, she was a very quick study. Despite only having gained the blessings of wind mere days ago, Anemo danced around her fingers like an old friend. And whatever knowledge the Knights shared about the elements, she was able to swiftly put to use. Her bursts of wind quickly found rhythm — turning Amber’s flaming arrows into a veritable firestorm, Kaeya’s icy blasts into a furious blizzard, and Lisa’s crackling static into a sweeping storm of lightning. And yet, nothing ever spun out of control. With the lightness of her feet and a sword that moved like an extension of herself, every encounter turned her into a lethal mix of violent winds and flashing steel. Clubs went flying, and bows turned to splinters as the party tore their way through the disorganised pockets of hilichurls scattered along their route.
He really raised a brow when she conjured a miniature vortex in her palm, her winds dragging her enemies toward her before launching them towards the waiting weapons of the Knights. It was a very close imitation of his own style, only lacking in the raw power that he wielded because of his divinity.
He had to admit it was immensely flattering, even if it was achieved in ignorance. He had to wonder just how she got the inspiration.
Last and most telling was her sense of honour. The girl owed nothing to Mondstadt, and it would have been well within reason for her to comply with Jean’s request to remain behind. She’d just faced down a full-fledged elemental vishap – something few could survive unscathed. Hell, she could easily have walked out on Mondstadt too, citing her quest to locate her lost sibling as too important to waste time being tangled up in a foreign city’s affairs. And the Knights would have let her go. Plenty had walked away from greater disasters for far lesser reasons.
“You are certain you wish to assist in our investigation?” Jean had asked, her stern features drawn up carefully. Free will and consent was paramount in such circumstances.
“I won’t ignore those who are in need,” was her steady reply.
And now here she was nearly two weeks later, hunkering down with the Knights under a small, rocky outcrop. The last of daylight had faded into oblivion, revealing a calmed, starlit sky — the fruits of their hard labour. Her neat locks were a dishevelled mess at this point, while the edges of her dress were stained and singed. She winced as she lay herself on the grass, the action agitating her taxed muscles and wounds. The rest hardly looked any better; their exhausted and battered forms appearing almost haggard against the flickering light of their campfire. The final temple had been treacherous, the group having neared their limits as the investigation pushed them into a third consecutive day of travel and combat with minimal rest.
Wordlessly, he sent a mild breeze toward them, cradling the little group in a soft cocoon of sweet-scented winds. He couldn't help the smile that crept on him as he heard a collective sigh of relief. It’s the least he could do for these children who have fought so tirelessly for his city.
Rest, little ones.
Sleep claimed them all soon after. Venti extended an invisible domain to surround the outcrop, keeping vigil where they could not. Nothing short of Celestia falling from the sky would be allowed to disturb their rest for tonight. He settled at the foot of a distant tree, dozing to the sound of rustling leaves as he regained his strength. Poison lingered in his system still, and so rest was crucial to get him back in form.
When he was roused once more by the stirring of his protective winds, the moon still hung high in the sky. He spotted the Traveler drawing away from the camp, a lone figure stepping just outside the protective boundaries he drew.
He followed, unseen, just in case.
He watched her as she knelt on the grass, muttering in a language he has never heard of. Her slender fingers traced the pale blue feather in her hair as gold flared brightly within her. It was immediately followed by a flash of something ancient, more ancient than she. It smothered her light, drowning the celestial hues in a sea of old, violent magic. Her words grew urgent, almost desperate, as she clawed at the invisible threads of retreating celestial light. But the ancient force was unrelenting, snuffing her light and smothering it with an unyielding malice, until all that was left was the subdued hum of starlight that he had come to associate with her. Hot tears poured down her face then, and she crumpled into the grass, her mutterings turning into sobs.
He didn’t need any language to understand this.
He averted his eyes despite the aching hollowness in him, feeling like every bit of a voyeur for intruding. This wasn’t something he should be seeing.
Yet the anguish in her cries; raw, gut-wrenching and awful, rooted him to the spot like shackles. Each sob torn from her throat twisted an invisible knife in his chest, and every shudder in her shoulders drove the metaphorical blade ever deeper. The moon hung silently overhead, the only audience to her pain as far as she knew.
Unbidden, his mind drifted to Dvalin. Her cries were a mirror of his roars, her tears a reflection of his own bloodied drops. Both were drowning in their sadness, alone in their pain. Both souls tortured with anguish, crying with a desperation for catharsis and comfort.
He’s already failed to soothe Dvalin. The failure mocked him.
Foolish is what Morax would have called him, were he here to witness what he was about to do. Because only a fool would be so tenderhearted, so willing to believe that his actions here would count for anything in the grand scheme of things.
He reached out to the winds, sending a gentle wisp towards her. The winds drifted past her cheek and rustled her still-dishevelled locks, a pale imitation of a gesture that was not his place or right to give.
Don’t cry. He wants to say reflexively. But he has already risked his anonymity with her once. So he settled for letting the wind cup her cheek and dry her tears, to carry his wishes for consolation to her as it drifted past her hair.
It was a hollow comfort, for what use were well-wishes in the face of such pain? And while he did not recognise the ancient magic that has branded itself on her, the whispers of songs from times long past gave him just enough to hazard a guess as to its origins. If that's what she had tangled with…
Then there may be little he can offer in terms of comfort even as an Archon.
He remained with her, an invisible wisp amidst the winds, a fool among gods. Eventually, the sobs quieted and she regained her composure, steel returning to her gaze as she slipped back into the camp with no one the wiser.
When the Knights roused to the aroma of cooked skewers offered with a shy smile, their collective delight was enough to stave off questions about her throaty voice and puffy eyes. The Traveler mingled as they broke camp, her voice a far cry from the raw sobs that had wracked her hours earlier. She laughed once even, and the lilting timbre of her mirth was so pleasant and wildly contrasting Venti momentarily questioned if the despairing sight he had witnessed the night before had been a dream.
She’s definitely tough, he mused. He only hoped it wouldn't turn her brittle.
It was only when Amber, ever reliable and good-hearted, clapped the blonde on the shoulder and reaffirmed their promise to assist her search once Dvalin was dealt with, that she finally allowed herself to break into a genuine smile; even as her eyes shone with hopeful, unshed tears.
He quietly shelved the floaty, untimely warmth that bloomed in him at the sight. It’s a far, far better look on her, even if it wasn’t his place to say so.
When she first felt him on the wind, he was a formless presence amidst a cacophony of chaos.
She should have known trouble would follow after that encounter in the clearing. After all, it was never a good sign whenever beasts reacted violently to one’s presence. And just her luck, it had to be a dragon. She hadn’t even properly set foot in the damn place and already she’s managed to piss off a universal icon of might and power. But for the life of her, she could not think of any possible reason for that to have occurred.
One moment, the proud dragon was the picture of serene grace; its serpentine body stretched artfully across the rocks as a breeze filled the air with the soft, soothing scent of nature. Its viridian scales shimmered in the sunlight, casting an aura of gentle iridescence and captivating beauty over its otherwise imposing stature.
Then, with a sudden shift of the wind, the titanic beast became destruction incarnate; wild and feral, a deadly vortex of teeth and claws. A jarring, stuttering noise began to fill her ears as a dark haze washed over the great beast, smothering its scales in an oily shadow. The darkness pulsed ominously against the air about her; a jagged staccato of static crashing against the otherwise steady hum of natural energy.
The beast rounded on her, turning the blood in her veins to ice as she froze under the intense weight of its frenzied gaze.
Then it roared. Stars above, it was like a dragging million nails against a gigantic chalkboard.
Her heart seized as she scrambled for wings that would not manifest.
But miracle of miracles, the beast fled. She could continue her journey unscathed.
Her eyes suddenly met those of deep, luminous teal. For a single, dizzying moment, it felt like she was staring straight into the vast, comforting skies of her homeland. An avalanche of memories flooded her mind. An exchange of knowing glances, a mischievous curl of a lip. A hearty fireside meal, a gentle ruffling of blonde hair, a blanket of warmth as night fell over the skyward canvas of teal.
Then, it was gone.
It was hard to ignore the gnawing hollowness in her chest as she made her way towards the city, her nerves still frayed from the encounter. Yearning, nostalgia, grief; more than ever Lumine longed desperately to have her brother by her side, for something to anchor her, to stem the crashing tide of emotion threatening to pull her under. The sight of the city — warm, breezy and inviting — did little to ease her tension, as her picturesque surroundings cemented within her a sensation that she had not felt in centuries.
She dearly, sorely, wished to go home.
Paimon, sensing her frazzled mood and tensed silence, offered a reassuring squeeze of her hand. Lumine returned with a weak but grateful smile. She just needed to make it to the end of the day, and let sleep put a close on the day’s happenings. She could pick herself up again once the morning came.
But of course, it seemed like the fates of this world had other plans.
Instinct took over as harsh air currents ripped her from the ground, even as her mind screamed in exasperation at the turn of events. She’s been at home in the skies for far longer than some civilisations have existed, so this blasted dragon was in for a rude awakening if it thought launching her skyward would throw her off.
Control , she told herself, even as her blood roared in her ears. Stay calm, and you stay in control .
It was not as seamless of a transition into aerial movement as she would have liked. The glider — bless Amber and her timely generosity — would save her from becoming a stain on the ground, but it was still nowhere as manoeuvrable as her natural wings. Her mind jumped to the slightly foreign, but easy flow of elemental energy within her. This newfound power over the wind could potentially compensate for the difference.
At least, that’s what she hoped. She has not had a chance to test that idea out because, well, big angry dragon.
On cue, a pair of large, glowing eyes emerged from the depths of the darkened storm clouds. She inhaled once, her gaze sharpening as she stared the furious predator down. Without access to most of her abilities, she had no idea how she was going to fend off something this large.
But it was do or die now, and she was certain that this wouldn’t end until one of them fell.
It was always a bad idea to upset the balance of a world by attacking or worse, killing its native icons of power. But she was not going to allow herself to fall here, not while she still has a mission to accomplish. Her blade blinked into existence, its metallic heft a welcome weight in her hand.
If it must come to that — however insanely impossible it seemed — then so be it.
Yet, just as her skin began to buzz in anticipation of battle, something else caught her attention.
Amidst the ear-bleedingly loud screeches and jagged staccato that she’s come to associate with that shadowy miasma, she heard it. A pitched, keening whine; a tortured lamentation underneath the violent maelstrom of noise. There were no words uttered, no language spoken, but she heard the message all the same.
It hurts.
Again, almost impossibly so, the sound reached her ears. A single voice amidst a vast ocean of noise; a lonely, chilling aria echoing into the void. The sound of it haunted her to her core.
Help me.
Her grip on her blade faltered.
I don’t want to be this way.
What was going on?
Any further thought was thrown into disarray as the air ahead exploded into a blinding flash of teal.
Idiot, idiot!
Had her bout of unconsciousness made her lose her sense of self-preservation? She swiped at her eyes furiously, desperate to blink away the haze of disorientation. It was only the lack of physical pain that assured her that the attack had somehow not found its mark. How that could have missed her would be a mystery for later.
Her heart dropped into her stomach as she righted herself in time to see a set of razor claws the length of pillars aimed straight at her.
Shit.
She let go, plummeting into a freefall as the massive dragon streaked past her in a blink. The manoeuvre may have saved her for now, but the loss of altitude could easily turn into a death sentence. Instinct had her drawing from within once more, to give her something to work with, but the result was the same — a smattering of starsparks as celestial gold died away.
Shit, shit, shit–!
Suddenly, she was hoisted upwards, ascending rapidly on currents far stronger than her own control would have allowed. There was another presence in the air now, cutting through the malevolent aura about her like a knife and filling the resulting space with a melodic hum. The air suddenly felt fresher compared to the biting, deadly winds that the dragon had stirred with its influence.
Nerves shot to hell with a mix of adrenaline, terror and relief, she could not help but mutter a string of curses. “How?”
She nearly jumped out of her own skin when the formless air answered her.
The voice was youthful, almost playful in tone. It was light and gentle, like the soft ringing of bells and rustle of dandelion seeds on the wind. There was a melodic lilt to its words, its cadence sounding almost protective as comforting winds wrapped about her like a warm embrace and buoyed her to safety. Yet there was also something undeniably authoritative beneath, in stark contrast to its otherwise invitingly youthful tenor.
But most striking — and somewhat distracting — was that it spoke almost entirely in verse and rhyme. Who talked like that in such a situation?
There was nothing else that she could grasp about her unknown saviour even as it continued to speak. No face to read, no features to take note of, no body language to study. In her present circumstance she would welcome any help, and it was all too tempting to give in to the disarming reassurance within that lilting voice. Yet, the fact that she had nothing else on this unknown figure ruffled her instincts and made her decidedly anxious.
“I’m not in the habit of making deals with disembodied voices,” she replied stubbornly. A voice that sounded like her brother cautioned her against spurning the help she quite needed in the moment.
Suddenly, the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She twisted back, throwing up a hasty blast of Anemo to her right. The resulting explosion sent a painful shockwave through her body. The dragon was pressing its offensive, and she found herself making increasingly desperate manoeuvres to keep away. Short blasts of air helped to alter her trajectories quickly, but the beast was proving to be observant. Its shots were getting more accurate by the minute, and it was evident that it had begun curving its blasts to predict where she might dart to.
She grit her teeth. It wouldn’t be long before it landed a direct hit.
She grimaced as she twisted herself away from another volley, the shots flying wide as strong winds surged to carry her out of the way. Her unseen saviour was still looking out for her, it seemed.
Then it voiced its request, and the last threads of her control snapped.
“You want me to do what?!”
It may as well have asked her to serve the damned dragon some fresh tea.
For a brief moment, she wondered if she had gone insane, arguing with a formless voice in the middle of a fight for her life. And what of the lonely, baleful lament that was still audible in her ears? Something within the poor, wretched thing was clearly broken; twisted beyond recognition and cursing the beast to feel every moment of it. To raise a hand against it now seemed wrong.
But of course, as the voice rightly reasoned, the situation could not continue. The dragon's presence was actively harming the city below, putting innocents at risk. She was already fighting to keep herself alive, being caught unprepared by the dragon’s sudden appearance; she can’t imagine what it must be like for the city of humans below who do not share her star-born constitution. And with the beast’s clear fixation on her, she was already in the unexpected and unfortunate position of having to rid herself of its presence. That doing so would also help save the city below was a bonus.
And to leave others to fend for themselves… That was not her style to begin with.
“Very well,” she capitulated. She was not about to let a city fall, or let herself get hunted by a dragon. Just as she wondered how she would tackle her newfound task, she felt a surge of power welling within her. Her essence sang as strength flooded her being, foreign but fresh, strange but stalwart. She returned her blade to her hand, palming the hilt with renewed vigour. The crystals on her scarf burned brightly, and suddenly it felt as if the world’s winds were at her fingertips.
The dragon screeched anew, and found herself roaring back in defiance.
There was much that she still had to do. And this dragon was not going to stand in her way.
Chapter 2: First Meetings
Chapter Text
When the wind carried news of her next, it brought with it the weight of expectations.
Word spread fast among people, sometimes faster than even the wind.
‘Honorary Knight’ he heard. The title was on the lips of every Knight, passed in whispers from one soldier to the next. ‘Unheard of’ they told one another; some in awe, some in petty jealousy. ‘She’ll bring us through’ a small handful dared to hope.
With his new plan in mind, perhaps that hope will not be unfounded. He’s only sorry that he will be the one to put the weight of that expectation on her directly. But Dvalin’s life and the safety of Mondstadt was at stake. With no other option left, he must commit the small, necessary evil of having her become the pivotal component to his plan.
However, he will not force her into it. Free will was paramount, even — perhaps, especially — in matters of life and death. Even if it meant choosing something after having been pointed along the path.
He sighed. How he would do all that, would be the question for the day.
He materialised outside the city away from prying eyes. Taking a deep breath, the winds picked up at his call, bringing a myriad of voices to him. He took the moment to hear his people, to listen to the collective comfort they were expressing in the wake of the storm clouds finally being banished. It was a small solace, in praising their newfound hope they still decried the very existence of his friend. But he took it nonetheless. Steeling his resolve, he turned his attention to sift through the cacophony, the winds shifting and stirring about him as he did so.
It didn’t take long for him to finally pick out the voices he was searching for.
“Why didn't you tell them about that weird green fellow who was talking to the dragon? He’s definitely suspicious,” a voice he definitely recognized as belonging to the Traveler’s fairy companion. He didn’t miss the way her tone curled slightly at the mention of him.
Weird green fellow? A tiny part of him wanted to feel insulted; green was one of his favourite colours and one of the best colours to boot. The rest of him wanted to laugh at their uncreative and frankly irreverent description of him. He sauntered through the city gates and past the bustling market, keeping his ear trained on the thread of wind carrying their conversation to him.
“He is, but I want to find him on my own first,” the blond answered just as quietly, unknowing that her conspiratorial whispers were being carried to him as they spoke. He mused, wondering which of the various quiet, private spots in the city they were hiding in. Taking a deliberate turn, Venti eased into the web of alleyways within the city.
“Why?” The fairy asked.
“The Four Winds were chosen by the Anemo Archon, weren’t they? If that green fellow really can communicate with Stormterror, then he might know something about the Archon too. If he’s confronted by the other Knights before we get to him, he might become unwilling to talk to us later. Besides, he knows we saw him with the dragon. He won’t be able to deny his involvement if we question him about it directly. We talk to him first, we can get leads for both issues.”
She was a sharp one, he had to give her that. But he wasn’t going to complain, not when the pieces were falling into place in his favour. All he needed now was an arrangement for their first encounter. Every grand tale needed a fitting opening, after all.
“Right, that makes sense.” The fairy concurred. “Who knows, he might even be able to tell us about that weird voice we heard too… Well, then what are we waiting for? We should start looking for him!”
“And that’s the problem, isn’t it?” the Traveler muttered.
“Someone wearing that much garish green would be hard to miss.” The fairy intoned. Venti can practically hear the eye-roll in her voice. “Plus, he has a Vision; he’s bound to stick out like a sore thumb. Paimon’s sure someone in the city has seen him around. Chin up Lumi, we’ll catch him in no time!”
Garish huh? And in no time? That sounded suspiciously like a challenge.
He suddenly knows how he’s going to set up their meeting.
“Get back here!” The fairy screeched, an impressive display of fury for someone her size.
He expertly turned the corner, deliberately letting the edges of his cloak flutter a little longer in all its garishly green glory. Then he dashed away with the wind at his heels, disappearing in a flash of teal as frantic footsteps thundered across the cobblestones. They rounded the corner much faster than the last one he disappeared from, only to come up empty as they realise he’s led them to another dead end.
The string of colourful curses that erupted from the pair made him burst into laughter. Such language! He can’t help the grin that spreads on his face. She is undoubtedly quick, quicker than most, and he can sense her clever use of Anemo to speed her steps — but being one with the wind gave him an advantage no elemental wielder could ever hope to match.
Gentle winds brushed against her cheek at his request. Come on, they urged. You’re almost there.
Nonetheless the goal was to be found, so he made sure to leave traces of Anemo for her to track, careful in their placement so his movements still looked believable. And track them she did, homing in on his last location like a determined hound even as the traces he left behind grew intentionally more diminished. Her sensitivity was astounding for someone who’s only gained the exposure to elemental magic recently.
Such talent and skill was enough to give him hope. Hope that she will be able to bear the burden he is going to place on her shoulders, should she accept.
Satisfied with his little impromptu test, he circled back to the plaza beneath his statue and summoned his lyre. It won’t be long before she arrives, and he had just the ballad in mind to lay the groundwork for his plans to convince her.
To her credit, she was at least polite enough to wait for his song to end and the crowd to disperse before she confronted him.
“You!” Gold eyes met teal once more, and he felt a swooping sensation in his gut as her gaze bore into his. Up close and in the flesh, her starlight and fair features were truly beautiful to behold — there was no doubt that he would be penning poems and ballads in her honour.
Once she’s let go of his collar, of course.
“What? Who are you?” he yelped in feigned shock. The scent of sweet flowers and windwheel asters flooded his nose. He tugged on her wrists in a show of struggle, just to sell the whole thing a little harder.
He can’t ignore how his own fingers were able to encircle her slender wrists.
“Enough games!” she barked at him, fire dancing in her eyes. He should appear intimidated, but he can't help the small, idiotic grin that worms its way onto his face. What’s with him right now? “Start talking!”
Focus. “Oh! You’re the ones who scared Dvalin away!”
“And how do you know Stormterror’s real name?” Whoops. The grip on his collar tightened — she truly looked angry now. “Are you close with him or something? Were you the one who sent him on that rampage?”
He needed to defuse the situation quickly. "Oh heavens no. We’re close, closer than you’d ever imagine, but I would never do such a thing.” It made him sound like an absolute nutter, but as he’d long always believed: if you can’t convince, confuse.
As he hoped, her glare faltered in that moment as the gears in her head turned.
“Uh, Paimon thinks this guy’s got a few screws loose…”
Her hands fell away, but her face remained inscrutable. “Look, just who are you?”
“I’m Venti the bard. Three-time winner of the ‘Best Bard in Mondstadt’, in fact.” He replied airily, pride lacing his voice. A statement that was all truth, and completely devoid of useful information. “And who are you?”
Golden eyes narrowed slightly at his question. “I’m Lumine, and this is Paimon.”
“And what do you want from me?”
That roused the ire of the fairy, Paimon, almost immediately. “Quit that amnesia act! You clearly recognise us, so you know why we’re here!”
“Which would be…?”
Paimon looked ready to throttle him. The thought of the little creature no larger than his lyre attempting to body him was certainly amusing. “Argh you-! Just show it to him, Lumi!”
His mirthful mood vanished into vapour when the blonde pulled out an object he never expected to end up in her hands. The sight of the tear-shaped crystal shining in clear, brilliant teal nearly made him choke on his own voice.
“Hey wait, this wasn’t–”
“You’ve purified it,” he mumbled in awe. He knows what she is capable of by now, and has experienced it for himself when he held her aloft and tailed her through the temples. But the brilliance of the crystal before him, teeming with sorrow and brimming with Anemo, was the most solid proof to him. Proof that her abilities can and do work directly, proof that there truly is hope for Dvalin yet.
Hastily, he pulled out his own crystal. Angry, red and stained; burning with hatred and bleeding an aura so cursed that not even his influence as an Archon could cleanse it. No Vision wielder could hope to touch the teardrop without some form of blowback — such was the potency of the curses held within. He held it with little visible difficulty only because he kept it bound within a miniature, invisible domain of his own.
He all but shoved the blood-red crystal into her hands, watching intently as her fingers closed around it. The cursed gem met her skin with painless ease, the domain holding it dissolved in a flicker of Anemo light.
“Could you purify this too?” he asked, voice low. Almost pleading.
She said nothing. Simply studied the crystal, gold eyes flickering with apprehension and curiosity in equal measure.
Then, before his eyes, the corruption unraveled — its darkness bleeding into nothingness, until only the clear, cool hue of Anemo remained.
“You have truly wondrous abilities,” he breathed, “someone like you is going to be written into a bard’s poem someday.” He said that, only because he was certain he would be the one to do so. Hope filled him in the moment, bright and dazzling and breathtaking all at the same time. Memories poured into his mind, of times far more innocent, when Dvalin’s child-like wonder shone through his own bejeweled scales as he flew through the skies.
All that could be restored. Dvalin could enjoy the favour he’s so craved from the people of Mondstadt. They could be reconciled once more, and everything–
Foolish. A voice echoed in his mind. It stopped the surge of nostalgia dead in its tracks.
Of course, he reminded himself. Time wears down everything after all. Flowing like wind and relentless like water, wearing down man and god, earth and sky.
He smacked himself. He was supposed to be putting on a show, to point her in the direction of his plan. “Ah, but alas, I do not have the time to make any compositions, so immortalising your deeds in song will have to wait–”
“This crystal.” The blonde, Lumine, muttered. Her eyes were still trained on the crystal, studying its cool glow. “What does it have to do with Stormterror and his rampage?”
He cannot stop his grimace at that ugly name. “Dvalin,” he insisted, “is a gentle child and a steadfast protector of Mondstadt. But he has been cursed and driven into a frenzy. His heart, however, remains true; even his rage cannot stop the tears he spills from his pain.”
Her gaze shifted to his, and suddenly he felt pinned in place by twin orbs of gold. “So these tainted crystals are his tears? Manifestations of his pain?” Lumine asked slowly. She seemed to be building towards something, searching him intently for some form of confirmation.
“...Yes.” He answered carefully, wondering if this was the opening he needed.
“Then tell me how I can help him,” she stated a short pause, and his heart soared.
“You wish to help him?” He searched her face, looking for the barest hint of deception. “Not slay him?”
“I believe your song.” She answered him steadily. “And your words about Storm- Dvalin.”
Success.
If hope were a flower, it would be blooming and glowing under the summer sun of his grin right now. “Then, meet me at the symbol of Mondstadt’s Hero at Windrise.” He whispered as he skipped past her, nerves buzzing with energy and delight. “Let's take this conversation away from itching ears and prying eyes.”
He took off with the sound of Paimon’s indignant protests at his heels.
He may be a fool, but he’s not stupid. He can sense the curious gazes coming from Goth Grand and feel the tinge of a foreign frigidity on the breeze. The latter in particular stood out like a sore thumb against the warmth of a Mondstadtian summer.
Well. One crisis at a time, he supposed.
What a mess he’s in.
It took Lumine much longer than expected to arrive.
The road to Windrise was hardly long, but the monsters along the route had grown restless. The winds carried whispers of their activities, their agitation stirring the gentle breezes into a staccato of harried gusts. Venti could only surmise that their increased aggression and numbers had to do with the ley lines getting corrupted by Dvalin’s influence.
Patience, he tells himself. It will be resolved soon enough.
At least, with the sound of harangued footsteps and tired sighs, he does not need the wind to tell him that the woman of the hour had finally appeared. “How did you manage to get here before us?” Lumine muttered as she wandered up the steps, eyes furrowed in disgust as she cleaned her sword.
He returned with a cheeky, mildly smug grin. “I may be a bard, but I’m also pretty good with a bow. I could strike down most monsters faster than they would know.” And that wouldn’t even be a lie; he would bet all the mora, that he currently doesn't have, that he could outshoot any archer in all of Teyvat. Not that he truly needed to employ his archery to get anywhere, since he could basically disperse into the wind and avoid all the inconveniences that a trek would bring — like hostile monsters, soiled clothes and bloodied equipment.
But she didn’t need to know that.
He chuckled at the faint murmurs of ‘lucky bard’ and ‘damn archers’ . “Why did you want to meet all the way out here?” she asked as she sat down on a large root. “Surely what we have to discuss need not warrant having to brave the monsters on the road.”
He hopped down from his perch in the branches, keeping a respectful distance from her as he lowered himself onto the grass. “Dvalin is going to be a sore topic for many in the city." He answered. "Talking about trying to save him in broad daylight might draw unwanted attention.”
“Like from the Fatui.” Lumine hazarded a guess.
“So you have heard of them,” Venti sighed, his gaze drawn back to the city walls in the distance. Even now, he could still hear the stress and unrest on the breeze, sticking out like a discordant harmony. “They’ve been quite active in the city, criticising the Knights for not taking direct action.”
“Well, they’ve gone and done more than that,” Paimon huffed in disapproval as she floated by Lumine’s shoulder. “One of their diplomats questioned Master Jean in the middle of the street, offering to slay Dvalin themselves!”
He fought to suppress the wave of white-hot fury that flared within him. Was this the Tsaritsa’s answer? The sheer audacity. “Is that so?” He murmured, his voice dangerously soft. A harsh gust cut through the branches above, turning the serene rustle of leaves into the deadly noise of a viper's rattle.
The travelling pair flinched at the sudden shift in the winds, causing him to wince. Drawing in a deep breath, he willed his emotions to calm down. It will do no one any good for him to lose his cool now.
“The Acting Grandmaster rebuffed them and declared that the Knights had no intention of slaying Dvalin,” Lumine added.
“I have no doubts that she did,” Venti hummed in approval. The Gunnhildrs were famously loyal in that manner. “But my guess is that the Fatui will merely interpret that as a challenge.”
“Well, then we have our work cut out for us don’t we?” Lumine replied steadily. Her determination warmed his heart, allowing a grateful grin to slip through the haze of his anger. “What can I do to help?”
“Before that, indulge my curiosity for a bit, if you don’t mind.” He met her steady gaze with one of his own. “As much as I’m grateful — and truly, I am — what really managed to convince you to save Dvalin? Not that I doubt my musical skills and powers of persuasion, but something tells me you weren’t simply moved by my ballad."
The question seemed to take her by surprise, judging by the raised brows and silence as she collected her thoughts. Her eyes flicked between him and the patch of grass before her as she pondered, seemingly weighing her options. Venti waited, making a show of relishing the views about him. Trust had to be earned, after all.
Eventually, she took a deep breath. “When Dvalin attacked me during his assault on the city, I had been prepared to retaliate.” There was guilt in that admission, which only piqued his interest further. “But something stopped me.”
He schooled his face into one of polite curiosity. “Something?”
She closed her eyes then, lost in her memory of the incident. “This is going to sound crazy, but while he was attacking, I could… hear his pain. Not through words; it’s more akin to a broken, discordant song. Something inside him was throwing his whole alignment into disarray — injecting harsh, jagged noise that drowned out his natural harmony. Even his roars sounded twisted to my ears.”
…That is definitely not the answer he was expecting.
“I got the feeling that he isn’t supposed to be this way, that something about him had been completely warped by all that awful noise in him. It seemed… unfair to kill something so out of balance. It was only after hearing your ballad did my experience begin to make a semblance of sense.” Her answer trailed off, golden eyes flicking to his in quiet worry — studying, waiting.
Again, his emotions are thrown into a jumble. Taking him at his word was already a great win to begin with, but to have it be so because she too can sense Dvalin’s pain? Part of him wants to hug her and cry in relief; it's been near maddening to be the only living being in Mondstadt who could truly see the tragedy and extent of Dvalin’s suffering.
On the other hand, her reply stirred a pit of worry in his gut. The depths of madness Dvalin had been driven to has rendered the ability for speech and clear thought nearly impossible. It was only his divine nature and personal history with the dragon that gave the wind god an understanding of the meaning behind Dvalin’s corrupted appearance, deranged roars and blood-curdling shrieks. That an outlander with no history or ties to this land, who no known nature that would otherwise confer an elevated sense of perception or knowledge could perceive these things? That meant only one thing — an ability to understand a force that was forbidden to all by heaven's mandate.
He swallowed thickly as the ancient, ugly brand on her spirit flashed his mind's eye. The heavens were utterly unforgiving, even to those who merely chanced upon the immense and otherworldly power of the Abyss. A power so alien that even the gods had trouble understanding it. A power so corrosive that its existence was a blight on all things in Teyvat, spreading like a wild cancer wherever it sprang up. A power that she is somehow immune to, and able to interpret.
It’s a blessing to him, no doubt. Her skills and presence meant only good news as far as his current concerns were. But he could not forget the brand, that mark of divine rejection. It was proof that they tried to dispose of her once and failed. If they ever caught wind of her presence…
“I see.” He hummed neutrally. Gold eyes were now affixed on him. Trust had to be earned, and so he made the necessary sacrifice — laying a card rather than staying his hand. “Your insight is spot on." He made no further comment on her abilities and perception, and the tension in her shoulders lessened slightly. "Dvalin is the way he is because of his degradation.”
“His body, his blood, his mind; it’s all been tainted. Over time, the taint transformed into a painful, agonising curse that has twisted his fear and confusion into a vicious cycle of hatred. It does not take much to manipulate that and aim him straight at the city.”
Eyebrows were raised. “He is being controlled?”
“Indeed. Have you heard of the Abyss Order?”
At the blank look on her face, Venti continued. “It's an organisation of non-humans who utilise abyssal magic, which is most likely that discordant song you heard before. Most hilichurls you encounter are likely acting under their orders. Overall, I can only say that this organisation hates the human world with a burning passion.”
Venti straightened his back and levelled Lumine with a serious gaze. “To help Dvalin, we will most likely need to go up against such a force. So, I'll ask again, are you certain you still wish to help save him?”
To his surprise, Lumine let out a light chuckle, her face drawn into an expression of mild amusement and what looked like approval. “Is everyone in Mondstadt always so serious about obtaining consent? You sounded like the Acting Grandmaster there for a moment.”
“Mondstadt is the City of Freedom.” Venti replied easily. “And so the freedom to choose is always going to be paramount.”
“And that is the core principle of the Anemo Archon, isn’t it?” She asked, leaning back against a root. Her eyes were now drawn to the statue ahead of them both, a pillar of stone against a backdrop of nature. A breeze blew past, ruffling hair and rustling the grass about them. Almost as if the wind itself were acknowledging her query. “What can you tell me about this god?”
It would be easy to fall back on habit, to evade the question as he always would. But trust had to be earned and honestly, how long could he hope to keep his identity secret? His plan would already require him to revisit and draw upon the various aspects of his divinity. As the lynchpin of said plan, it was inevitable that she would find out who he was; concealing his identity would more likely be an exercise in futility. And ultimately, there was something inexplicable about her that called to him — to break habits millennia old, to take a leap of faith. To try something different and give himself a chance to see what it could bring.
Barbatos, God of Wind and bringer of flight, has never feared any heights. Venti, travelling bard and wanderer extraordinaire, has never shied from adventure.
And yet–!
“Nothing more than the average citizen, I’m afraid.” The blatant, instinctual lie was nothing new. It was one that has hung on his lips since he first gained his mortal shell, and uttered so many times in various ways that it may as well have been a second skin. And yet, for the first time in forever, it left the taste of ash on his tongue and gripped his chest like a vice. “Barbatos has not been seen nor been active in Mondstadt for a very long time, after all.”
The wind stirred as he spoke, cool and oddly listless.
There was no hiding the flash of dejection on her face. All at once, he was reminded of the anguish in her eyes, of the strangled sobs that permeated the silence of the night. The grip on his chest tightened. Even the wind seemed to be of a similar mind, whipping past him and slapping his braids against his cheeks as if in admonishment.
“But he does exist, doesn’t he?”
There was an earnest desperation to her query now, and the discomfort in him deepened even more. Whatever misdirection that would have followed died on his lips. “Yes.”
“Then–”
“Uh, Paimon hates to interrupt.” Paimon interrupted. “But there’s something approaching!”
That’s when the sensation hit him. How could he have missed something like this? The winds began to whirl violently, ripping grass from the root and flinging dirt into the air.
“What the heck is that !?” Lumine jumped up, blade blinking back into existence.
“Looks like we will need to put our conversation on hold for the moment,” Venti intoned gravely. The corruption in the ley lines must have progressed faster than he anticipated if a Storm Eye could form so readily. But what was more worrying was the fact that it managed to escape his notice for this long.
Perhaps his slumber had been much deeper than he anticipated.
The Anemo energy in the air whirled violently, as a core of condensed elemental power and crystallised energy began to solidify.
The last time he beheld such mindless creatures, Decarabian still ruled from his tower. If he squinted, he could almost see the resemblance between the swirling construct and the eyes of the once tyrant Lord of Storms. The ley lines must be very disturbed to have manifested such a shade from a time so long past.
He summoned his bow, an ornate implement with an ancient history. A weapon forged by the blacksmiths of old in celebration of Dvalin’s ascension to the Four Winds. Blessed by his power as the god of wind, the bow bore no physical string of natural fibres, but of pure Anemo held together by divine ordinance. Designed by friends he held dear, it was not one but multiple lines of glowing Anemo strings that flashed into existence, making the weapon of war resemble an instrument of music. Fitting, for it was ultimately a gift to the God of Wind and Song in a time of hard-won peace.
The Skyward Harp, as christened by its ancient creators, sung anew as it answered the call of its rightful wielder. The bow was as much a symbol of his godhood as it was a marker of his ties with the dragon. Thus, it was only fitting that he used it in present times, when his friendship with Dvalin was being tested and his divine pledge to defend his people was called upon.
It would have been more prudent for him to shroud the bow in illusion, even if its history has been lost to time. Its appearance was too distinct, too ornate to be passed off as a run-of-the-mill weapon for a wandering bard. But the tainted winds grew stronger and ever more violent, and the imminent threat of danger chased all notions of subterfuge away from him. Every passing moment gave the construct time to gather strength and bleed its corruption further into the air, and he would not stand to have even a shred of it so near to his people.
If Lumine noticed the power thrumming underneath his weapon of choice, she did not show it. He drew the infused string back, the arrow nocked and ready to strike. Disruptive winds blessed with divine power gathered at the arrow tip, ready to purge and tear the mindless wind construct apart.
“So,” she asked, shoulders tensing as she readied for battle. “How good are you with a bow?”
He can’t help the small, cocky grin that formed. “You’ll see.”
Many songs sing of connections forged through the fires of combat, of friendships kindled from such flames. The stories come in many flavours, but all lead to new beginnings just the same.
As the Storm Eye falls and dissolves back into wind, the wind god briefly wonders if this too, could be a beginning for him.
With the winds restored to their usual flow, Venti slumped back against the roots of the great oak with a thud. The east winds have clearly stopped blowing for a while, causing the lands to be cut off from the nourishing and cleansing rains they would bring from the coast. Corrupted energies would simply fester and spread instead of being washed away, and grow into aberrations as the land soaked in the malevolence of abyssal influence.
He silently despaired at the state of affairs. He should not have slept so long.
“Hey, are you alright?” Lumine hovered over him worriedly even as her shoulders heaved from the lingering exertion. “Are you hurt?”
“Nothing life-threatening.” He gave her a thumbs-up. “But I am still recovering from a bout of poisoning, so perhaps it's just a side-effect.”
“Poison?” Paimon wondered aloud as she emerged from the safety of the old oak. “How did you get poisoned?”
“Ahh, that would be because I got interrupted when I tried to communicate with Dvalin some time ago. Turns out, purification rituals have nasty rebounding effects when they get terminated out of turn.”
And wow, did that come out more accusatory than he anticipated.
But the experience had been exceedingly unpleasant and rather harrowing. Plus, it had placed his abilities to protect Mondstadt from Dvalin at severe risk. He shuddered to think what might have been had the Traveller not had the unexpected gift of immunity against the Abyss.
Realisation sank in at his reply. At least the pair had the wherewithal to look appropriately horrified and aghast, even if they were ignorant of how bad it could truly have been. “That was me?” Lumine muttered.
“Yeah, it was.” He does not mince his words, though there was no real heat behind them. For a colossal screw-up of such proportions, it would be best that all parties involved knew what hand they had in it. His was that he didn’t anticipate interruption, and his current state of being was the price he paid. “Honestly it was a miracle that Dvalin chose to flee when that happened. I doubt either of us could have weathered his fury at such close quarters.”
He could practically feel the guilt radiating off the blonde. Somehow, the sight of it made him feel distinctly uncomfortable.
“I’m really sorry,” she answered softly, unable to meet his gaze. “I didn’t know.”
Great, now he felt like an ass. “Ah, that’s in the past; you’re here to help and that’s what matters.” He chuckled as he waved his hand dismissively. “Besides, it's why I decided to come here as well. I can feel the poison draining out of me the longer I’m here.”
The leaves rustled as if in answer, and the winds stirred about them. The old oak shadowed them protectively with its branches, its presence filtering the remnants of the tainted air brought about by the Storm Eye. Dull, lifeless winds sweetened as they flowed past the leaves, the blessed nature of the tree breathing life into stale air as it stood proud. Vanessa’s blessing remained strong within the old wood, and its subtle hum was a grounding reminder of the sheer amount of time that it has withstood. He ran a hand along the ancient bark, a ghost of a wistful, grateful smile on his lips as he sent a silent thanks to the spirit of his friend.
His reply stirred something in Lumine, and Venti watched as she suddenly sat straighter.
“Give me your hand.” A pale, slender arm reached out to him with fingers splayed wide. He raised a brow quizzically at her. “If the poison is a result of Dvalin’s influence, maybe I can purify it from you like I did with the crystal.”
He stared at her outstretched palm. She was a kind soul for sure, and that realisation stirred a wave of assurance in him, warming him from head to toe.
But alas, he cannot help but curl his lips into a mildly teasing grin either. “Well, that’s a creative way to ask for my hand.”
Shock was followed by a flash of pink flushing across her cheeks. She sputtered as he broke out into laughter. “T-That’s–!”
“But it would be most ungracious of me to refuse such a request, especially from someone so fair. To be healed and held, indeed a fine pair.” He punctuated his declaration with a wink, and the flush on Lumine’s cheeks deepened into a darker shade of red.
“Hey! Stop teasing her like that!” Paimon flew up into his face, shooting him a scowl.
To her credit, Lumine recovered quickly from her embarrassment. She let out a loud, exasperated groan. “I’m just trying to help.”
“Sorry, sorry! I just couldn’t help it,” he answered cheekily, holding back a snicker at her muted grumble of ‘ cheeky bastard ’. Deciding that he should probably stop teasing her lest he push too far, he extended his open palm towards her in a placating gesture. “Please do,” he intoned gently. “I’d be grateful for the assistance.”
He slid his hand into hers. Her touch was gentle as her fingers wrapped around his; a far cry from the aggression she had handled him with back in the city. He found that he rather welcomed the change. Warmth seeped into his skin.
To say that what he felt next was soothing would be an understatement. It was as if an unseen weight lifted itself off his chest, allowing him to breathe deeply anew. Waves of fresh, soothing coolness washed over, leaching the fatigue within with each passing moment. Curious, he followed the strands of putrid darkness as they drained out of him, chasing the lingering echoes of a curse spun from twisted tongues. They seeped out of the essence that was him, drawn to the muted glow of starlight that beckoned from her. Yet, the moment blackened curse met celestial gold at the crux of their joined hands, the darkness vanished; smothered and dissolved into nothingness. With each dissolution the dark, heavy sensation that had lodged itself in him for the last week abated gradually, until he was left feeling fresher and more energetic than he’s felt in days. Were it not for the Traveler’s presence, he would have gleefully taken to the skies to revel in his newly-restored lightness.
Alas, he would need to settle for relaxing against the oak roots and enjoying the healing silence between them. His eyes slid shut as he felt the last of the darkness leaving him to fade into oblivion, while the familiar sensation of self and power filled the gap. Anemo, pure and unbridled, brimmed in familiar and soothing waves where poison once resided. They ebbed and flowed as he breathed; forming a constant, rhythmic tempo in his ears. Inhale, exhale. Sweet, rejuvenating winds filled his newly-loosened chest.
A deep, heady sigh drew his attention.
He cracked one eye open. Lumine remained still with her eyes closed and her back resting against the roots of the oak. Their joined hands remained between them resting on the grass, her slender fingers enveloping his in a gentle blanket of warmth. Save for the traces of dirt on her dress from their altercation with the Storm Eye and the tangled strands of her windswept hair, she was the picture of tranquillity with her meditative stillness, ethereal features and a trace smile on her lips. The air around her swayed rhythmically with her slow, steady breaths. Celestial light shimmered within her, pulsing with each rise and fall of her breath.
A sudden feeling of relief, protective and urgent, welled within him. Amid the soothing breeze, under the swaying branches, she looked at peace.
And somehow, that made Venti inexplicably gladdened.
The last of the poison faded into oblivion, no match for the cleansing brightness of her light. His breaths were now full, deep and as energetic as they came. For a moment, he was sorely tempted to linger in their shared silence. Serenity would be a hard thing to come by once they set his plan into motion. The winds of change beckoned and Dvalin’s fate, for good or ill, would be the first in the many dominoes that would fall.
But time waited for no one, and the sun had long since passed its apex.
“Thank you.” He uncurled his fingers, slipping his hand from her grasp. The loss of warmth was immediate and apparent. “I feel much better now.”
His voice drew her out of her meditative reverie. She blinked once, and it was only centuries of experience that allowed him to catch the bewildering mix of confusion and melancholy that flashed across her features. “Is it all gone?” She asked after a moment.
“It is, and I feel fresher than ever. I will not forget this kindness.” He bowed his head graciously.
She answered by inclining her own head and giving him a mild quirk of her lips, but it was evident that the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. Her gaze was still heavy and shadowed with a myriad of emotions. The sight of it unsettled him, and the temptation to ask burned and tugged at his mind.
She cleared her throat. “So, what’s this plan to save Dvalin?”
Back to business, it seemed. He complied; it’s not his place to ask anyway. “Basically, we just need to find him and hold him down long enough for you to purify the curses from his body.”
She blinked once. “Please tell me you have more details than that.”
“That’s where the next step of the plan comes in!” He replied cheerily. “There is a tool we can use to calm him down and buy us some time.” And if need be, actually restrain him. Der Himmel may be a lyre, but it was one that had more focusing power than any catalyst. In his hands, the instrument was more than capable of serving as a conduit to amplify and focus the more complex applications of his element. Applications that he’s had an unfortunate amount of experience with.
The thought of binding Dvalin like he did those rampaging monsters all those years ago turned his stomach.
“What’s so special about this tool?” Paimon wondered sceptically. “And if there is something so powerful that could do that, why hasn’t anyone thought to use it?”
“Probably because it’s not something people would expect it to be capable of.” Not anymore, at least.
“And as to why it’s special,” he gave what he felt was a suitably dramatic pause. “That would be because it's none other than the lyre that once belonged to Barbatos.”
Lumine does not quite know what to make of her recent days.
In a blur, she has gone from grappling with the enormity of her personal quest to being knighted and embarking on a mission to save a corrupted dragon from hunting her and razing its former protectees into the ground.
It’s been a whirlwind — one to rival even the wildest of her past adventures. She cannot help the little quirk of her lips at the thought. Her twin would have revelled in the turn of events, giddy at the thought of becoming a fabled knight taking arms against a mighty dragon.
But on the other hand, she noted sadly, they would not likely experience such a situation if he were present — it was his absence that spurred her into assisting the city anyway.
A treacherous stab of guilt lanced through her. You’re wasting time , the voice in her head hissed. You should be out there looking for him.
The other part of her mind clashed back. I am, she insisted. Searching is not a linear process. Searching needs resources and security. Mondstadt has resources and security. And I can’t go searching if I got a target the size of an angry dragon on my back.
Distractions, she heard the retort. You never could leave well enough alone.
She dug her nails into the grass. It was the same cycle of arguments — one that had plagued her mind night after night. And each time it reared its ugly head, she found herself doing the same thing: staring balefully into the fire, trying to set her mind on other things, even if she sometimes had to pray for daylight to arrive faster.
Paimon all but shoved a pair of skewers into her hand. Her little brows were pulled down in an expression that wasn’t quite worry, yet the question behind it was all too clear. A quick glance confirmed that none of the remaining skewers she had supposedly claimed for herself had been touched. The tilt of Lumine’s lips in answer came naturally, even if her heart wasn’t quite into it. Silently, the little fairy nudged her arm, making it clear she wasn’t going to leave her be till she finished the proffered food.
So she obliged, letting the taste of salt and fat spark a little bloom of warmth within her chest. A small, selfish part of her resented that it was hardly a substitute for the warmth she desperately wished for, but she knew better than to be ungrateful.
On nights like these, even kindness from a stranger would have been welcome.
That said, her gaze drifted over to the bard who nestled himself back against the trunk of the massive tree. She had no idea what to make of this particular stranger. After all, no normal person would willingly risk being near a dragon, much less one so obviously possessed. And to be found doing so mere hours before said dragon raised hell in the nearby city? To later be revealed to be communing with the dragon who turns out to be a friend of the wind god? That was far too many coincidences to ignore.
Not to mention that he was probably the best lead she’s had in months.
She hadn’t wanted to be rude about it — not when the cityfolk had been more than gracious in letting her settle among them. But after weeks of “Barbatos can only be reached by prayer” and “Maybe try the library” and “Just have a drink and live a little,” she reasoned that she could be forgiven for being less than patient when it came to her mission.
As such, she had expected her search for the mysterious bard to be a long, drawn out and frustrating affair.
So imagine her surprise when he had appeared before her in the heart of the city, eyes bright and glittering with mischief. She might have savoured the relief, were it not for the city-wide chase she was then taunted into. Still, hope swelled alongside indignation as she stormed wildly across the cobbled streets of Mondstadt, determined to catch the little shit and finally get some answers.
Only to hear him confirm that the God of Anemo was, in fact, exactly as his people claimed — absent, and seemingly out of reach. If even the threat of his own people being razed into the ground by a fallen friend couldn’t rouse the supposedly benevolent god… then what could?
A light melody began, jolting her out of her thoughts. Her attention was drawn to the sight of Venti, lyre in hand and lips parted in song. His voice was rich, light, and beautiful to behold – the sound of it easing the tension in her shoulders. The tender, wistful tune was nothing she was familiar with, but there was no denying the nostalgia beneath. Slowly but surely, the song drew her in, each musical phrase tugging a different memory to the surface. Scenes of teal skies, all-encompassing hugs and golden laughter swirled through her mind’s eye.
Yet, instead of a swell of despair crashing against her ribs and rending her heart, there was only a gentle, if still sour, twinge in her chest. Tears pooled at the corners of her eyes as she flitted from one memory to the next; yet the raw, high-pressure torrent of self-loathing remained conspicuously absent. It was still grief — grief for times long past and for times now no longer certain — but with far less of the gnawing, gaping hopelessness it came with before.
What remained was a muted melancholy. A mild, simmering ache in her heart, cradled by a sea of memories guided by a stream of music.
And within that… was a spark of hope. Small, but certain; buoyed by a lingering warmth anchored to a pair of thin wooden skewers, pulsing in time with a sliver of celestial gold.
Her tears stopped soon after that.
The music swelled, and her attention was drawn once more to the lone performer who was now surrounded by fluttering crystalflies. Their glow illuminated the pockets of shadow cast by the great canvas of wood and leaves overhead, leaving a backdrop of dappled shades across ivory skin and viridian cloth. His eyes were aglow with emotion, reflecting the beautiful atlas of stars that crowned the heavens overhead. Wisps of white, fluffy dandelion seeds fluttered about him, seemingly swaying in rhythm to his song. Suddenly, he turned his gaze to her, and for the briefest of moments she forgot to breathe.
The musical phrase continued, and the air left her lungs once more. He flashed a brilliant grin as he continued without missing so much as a beat; his demeanour calm and confident as his fingers danced across the strings. It’s a performer’s smile through and through, but one brimming with warmth, mirth and perfected charm.
She chalked the sudden rush in her ears purely to embarrassment.
He turned his serenade back towards the towering branches above, sparing her the awkwardness of navigating the malfunctioning blood vessels beneath her skin under his gaze. She studiously kept her eyes trained on the campfire, watching the embers dance and crackle as she willed her cheeks to stop flushing.
Suffice to say, they weren’t being very cooperative.
The night stretched on, and soon exhaustion spread itself like a blanket over them. Paimon, as always, was the first to go under; turning into a bundle of cloth and snores as she dozed next to the smouldering remains of the fire.
Lumine, however, had no such fortune — a mix of lingering melancholy and hopeful anticipation buzzing beneath her skin. Venti, his performance long over, made his way toward her. Rousing herself from her trance-like staring at the embers, she spoke.
“That was beautiful. The music, I mean.”
“My thanks.” The smile she got in return threatened to reignite the flames beneath her cheeks, so she quickly averted her eyes to stem the tide. “Will you not be retiring for the night?” Venti asked, careful not to rouse the sleeping fairy. He needn’t have bothered — Paimon could sleep through a storm if she wanted to. “With the Storm Eye gone, the protective magics here should be restored. We can sleep safely tonight.”
She didn’t doubt that. The wrongness that tinged the air here had dissipated along with the collapse of the whirling construct. And Venti’s music had certainly made the atmosphere beneath the large, looming branches feel much more homely and protective.
But really, how could she consider sleep without first getting this off her mind?
“Do you know how I can find Barbatos?”
He paused, looking momentarily baffled. “Ah, right.” He scratched his cheek sheepishly. “Was that what you were planning to ask before we got interrupted?”
“Yes.”
“Well, that’s definitely not a question I typically get.” He chuckled, his bell-like laughter distractingly disarming as it rang through the air. “A bard is more learned in matters musical than divine, after all.”
“But you’re able to communicate with Dvalin.”
She didn’t miss the way his cheer dimmed ever so slightly at her words, as if he didn’t want the reminder — despite being the one who said it himself. Strange.
“And you seem to know a lot about the wind god. You must know something about how to find him.”
He hummed, eyes suddenly heavy with something unreadable as he considered her query, a far cry from the genial playfulness he'd shown so far. Even though she’d only met him a day ago, there was something about his lightheartedness that had stood out. It was infectious, disarmingly so — sunny, but just slightly off. A little too bright, a little too eager. And when it broke, like with the crystal tear... and now, again, with her question, the contrast was enough to catch her attention.
When he spoke again, his voice carried a weight unlike the airy tone he had worn like armor. It snapped her to attention.
“Your request must be very important, for you to wish to seek out a god who hasn’t been seen in a long time.”
The words caught in her throat. Even after the balm of Venti’s music, the memories still filled her with dread. Hell, she doubted she’d ever forget the raw terror that seized her when blackness swallowed her twin whole.
Across from her, Venti said nothing. There was no mirth on his lips, no teasing in his features, only calm. Twin orbs of teal radiated patience.
Perhaps it wasn’t wise to reveal this to someone she’d only known for a day. It had taken her two months just to tell Paimon, and she hadn’t told the Knights at all. But something in that gaze called to her, nudging her toward a leap of faith that, somehow, her instincts didn’t resist. Her thoughts flickered to the skies of her homeland, and to the small spark of hope that had bloomed in time with his somber melody.
Taking a deep breath, she willed her voice not to waver.
“My brother has been captured by a god.”
The bard's curiosity evaporated. The otherwise soft lines of his shoulders turned rigid as a flurry of emotions flickered under his expression. Like shadows under a lightning storm, they were too quick and jumbled for her to pick apart and name, save for the obvious undercurrent of shock. “You are certain?” He muttered, a slightly fevered energy to his query.
“More than anything.” She did not say how it was burned into her memories, or how it haunted her dreams and nightmares alike.
“That’s…” The bard seemed at a loss for words, though why it was so escaped her. Thoughts continued to war within his mind as his lips pulled into a grimace. “My apologies for my rudeness,” he said after a moment of silence. “And I am sorry to hear that. It must be awful.”
“He lives still.” Again, she did not say how she knew, nor how it was likely the only thing keeping her sane. “And it is why I need the help of the gods to find him.”
His fingers fidgeted as he mulled over her words. Finally, after another period of silence, he answered. “I’m… not exactly very reliable when it comes to matters of the gods,” he admitted. “And Barbatos is historically known to be a fickle, finicky one. If he does not wish to be found, then… well.” He let out an awkward huff. “Plus right now, all I can think of is saving Dvalin and making sure Mondstadt continues to exist on the map.”
The hope she was clinging to suddenly felt far less tangible, and the taste of ash returned stronger than ever. Yet, it did not take away the truth from her next words. “I can understand,” she muttered reluctantly.
In the face of her brother’s predicament, it was only her years of experience and her sheer stubbornness that was stopping her from getting utterly consumed. Were she anyone else, she would likely have simply moved on to scour the land for her brother; civilians, morals, or anything resembling forethought be damned.
Which was worse, she wondered? To be cursed by her twin — battered, trapped, broken — for her tardiness; or be reviled by him for a trail of inaction and destruction in her wake?
“But once this whole thing is over…” Her heart leapt as she snapped back to the present. Yet, any response she could have given was cut off by an elegant finger raised to the bard's lips. “I’m unable to promise anything more for now, what with things being the way they are.” He added with an apologetic smile. “If you are willing to bear with me, then I will do what I can when the time comes.”
“Alright.” She breathed, not quite daring to believe her ears. Months of nothing, of feeling like she was swimming against a raging current or simply sprinting in place, and now there seemed to be progress. Not much, really — just a vague promise, and no clear target in sight.
But to finally hear that it was possible–
The rush of relief was enough to nearly bowl her over.
That night, she allowed herself to be lulled to sleep with the sound of sombre music and the warmth of hope blooming in her chest.
The next morning, she woke to the softness of a viridian cape draped over her frame and the faint scent of apples in the breeze.
“Morning. Did you rest well?” Luminous teal orbs, bright and earnest, greeted her own. Something within that gaze told her that no answer was needed.
Her eyes widened when she noted the sun’s position in the sky. She shot up, nearly sending the cape flying off her. “What time is it?”
“Relax. Your little friend insisted that you rest.” He winked as he held a bright red fruit up to her. Under the morning light, the proffered fruit looked delightfully crisp and fresh. “So I took the liberty of gathering some of Mondstadt’s best, to start your day.”
“Oh.” She felt the beginnings of another flush creeping up her neck. “Thank you.”
“Hey! This was Paimon’s idea, don’t take all the credit for it!”
“Of course, of course~!”
As the two bickered over whether fruit could be considered a proper breakfast, Lumine bit gently into the flesh of her apple.
It was sweet.
They do not take the same road back to Mondstadt.
Despite the banishment of the Storm Eye, the lands were still brittle and strained. As a result, the path she had cleared to reach the great oak did not stay clear for long. Like water, the monsters flowed back in to fill the gap readily, and by the time they broke camp from Windrise it was clear that the path back was no longer safe.
Not that it had been particularly safe even before.
Instead, they detoured through the forest’s edge, keeping to the trees to conceal their movements. It was tedious, slow, and painstaking — but infinitely better than brazenly walking through open ground.
Lumine was tough and Venti skilled, but neither was stupid enough to take on additional risk. In combat for the former, and in identity, for the latter.
Nonetheless, it didn’t take long for trouble to find them.
A hiss, the sharp rustle of leaves, movement to her right.
Lumine spun, blade half-drawn, but before she could act, the wind answered first. A subtle gust brushed her shoulder, nudging her just enough to knock her off the arrow’s path. It buried itself in the bark behind her with a dull thock. The shooter — a Hilichurl with a painted mask — toppled moments later, felled by a swift, singular arrow striking true with impeccable precision.
When she turned, Venti’s fingers were still curled around his bow. Ornate, ancient-looking, and humming faintly. Not the kind of weapon a humble bard or simple archer, so he claimed, should be carrying. And most certainly not with the level of skill that he carried it with.
But then again, she told herself as she gripped her blade, she had also managed to take on what felt like countless monsters now. With nothing but carefully placed gusts that she only gained the use of weeks ago, and what was essentially a dull hunk of steel slapped crudely on an old hilt. Not quite what a mere traveler, so she claimed, would be capable of doing.
Neither of them were exactly what they appeared to be.
“…Thanks,” she murmured.
He simply smiled, light and easy. “Of course.”
She said nothing more, but when they resumed walking, she didn’t return to taking point. Her blade remained in hand for the rest of the day.
It was with relief that she slumped on the grass once they made camp beneath an overhang of stone.
The shadows had begun to stretch, long and low across the earth, and even Paimon — ever the voice of indignation — had gone quiet from fatigue. She curled up near the fire pit, face smushed into one hand, soft snores slipping from her mouth in rhythmic protest.
Venti sat across from Lumine, absentmindedly poking at the embers with a stripped branch. His usual idle humming was absent, replaced by a kind of stillness she didn’t yet know how to read.
Lumine sat with her knees drawn up, arms resting lightly around them. She told herself that she was simply watching the flames, waiting for sleep to come.
The dull ache in her chest, however, branded her a liar.
She jolted when she heard the gentle trill of music.
“Sorry,” Venti stilled, an apologetic tilt to his brow. “Should I stop?”
“No, no, it's just…” she mumbled as she curled up further into herself. Her eyes remained fixed on the fire before her, searching the dancing threads of flames for an answer she knew would not come.
“It's okay,” he intoned gently. “As a bard, I'm more than able to take requests. Even if it's for an intermission.”
Lumine shifted wordlessly on the grass, with only the crackling of the campfire punctuating the silence between them.
Then, finally, she spoke. “Could I… hear the one from yesterday again?”
The smile that broke on his face was complex, to say the least. Equal parts gentle and understanding, and underneath it all — tinged with sorrow.
She wondered what he must have seen, to be able to make a face like that.
“As the good lady wishes,” he lifted his lyre with a hum, “so it shall be.”
He continued to play long after her eyes slid shut. And when she woke once more, it was to the sight of another stack of apples beside her, and the warmth of a cape draped over her form.
The next night had them taking shelter off the path of a winding grove. Here the crown of trees had begun to thin, letting the silver rays of moonlight filter in through the gaps in the branches. While nowhere near as inviting as the area under the old oak, the place nonetheless felt far less foreboding than the other stretches they’ve been on. Thus, it was with deep relief that she leaned against the trunk of a tree once more as night fell. Safety meant the space to actually enjoy her food for once, and — stars willing — a better night's sleep.
Venti perched himself at the base of a gnarled root, his lyre once again within his hands. This time, he began without prompt, filling the air around the camp with a melody similar to the one that he played the night prior.
She flicked her gaze to him, feeling the soothing pull of music loosen the tension in her shoulders. He simply dipped his head in answer, sending her an enigmatic smile as he returned his attention to the strings.
She studied him, noting the youthful shade of his visage and lightness of his posture. Dark, ebony locks of hair pulled into neat braids, topped artfully with a choice beret that matched the tones of his cape. A single white flower hung proudly on the edge of his hat, framed by two long lobes of leaves.
Cecilias, she remembered Amber telling her. Beautiful flowers that bloomed only where the wind blew.
Curious, she shifted her sight to observe him more closely.
And blinked.
At a glance, he looked no different from the others that she saw through this lens. Amber, Lisa and Kaeya had all looked… dull in such light, standing out against the bright backdrop of the energy field that blanketed this world. Only their Visions truly ever responded to this field, the little orbs of light flaring brighter whenever they called upon the elements.
Which brought her back to what she was seeing.
He looked no different.
Save for the dullness sitting where his Vision should be, and the small glimpses of energy leaking out the tips of his hair.
“Is everything alright?”
She nearly jumped out of her skin.
“Yes,” she answered, perhaps a little too quickly.
“... was the tune not to your liking?” He tilted his head in concern.
“It was lovely.” That, at least, she could say with sincerity. Still, she scrambled to find something to fill the gap, and she felt the beginnings of a flush crawling up her neck.
She gave herself a mental pat on the back when she managed to find something genuine.
“It’s just…” she wavered slightly, her mouth still trying to catch up with her mind. “You mentioned that Dvalin is a child.”
His gaze, thankfully, turned from concerned to curious, allowing her to continue and her voice to steady itself. “Well…” she hummed, “he doesn’t exactly look very young…”
To her surprise, he burst into laughter.
Which unfortunately, made the heat in her neck only intensify.
“Sorry,” he wheezed. “I sometimes forget that to most, he is still a two hundred foot vishap.”
She quirked a brow at him, her ears burning. Even if her question had been asked in deflection, it was still something she had wondered about. So sue her if her sense of age and scale for this world weren't yet completely calibrated.
Still, who forgets something like that?
Wiping a tear from his eye, he composed himself. “Compared to the far reaching history of Mondstadt, Dvalin is relatively young. The tales about him do not have the same weight of legacy as others. Also,” he added with a chuckle, “legend did record him as a bit of a brat, at times.”
She blinked.
It was hard to imagine something that terrifying as a brat.
Still, the question stirred something akin to excitement in the bard, so Lumine leaned forward and immersed herself in legends and tales. Somewhere along the way, she even chuckled along with him as he shared the story of a fledgling vishap who once split an offending thundercloud in ignorance, before panicking at how to put it back in time for the eastern rains.
And all the while, the winds curled around them — light and unburdened. At times, she swore it seemed to move in time with him, as he regaled her with songs and ballads alike.
Lumine fell asleep that night to the sounds of music painting the portrait of a youngling dragon turned valiant steward of the wind and stalwart protector of the city.
When she rose the next morning to yet another bunch of apples and his cape draped over her for a third time, she decided it was only fair — regardless of the mystery surrounding him — to return the favour.
When they stopped for a mid-day break, she made sure to nudge an extra portion of skewers towards him.
And pointedly did not flush pink when he flashed a charming smile in thanks.
After breaking camp to move on, Lumine walked more quietly and kept him in her sights.
And this time, she listened to the wind.
Chapter 3: The Calm
Chapter Text
Venti would never have imagined he would feel nervous about entering the cathedral. Amused, yes — he’s basically built a pastime around visiting from time to time to guess the newest teachings his children were spreading in his name. He even felt exasperated sometimes, when he listened to the contents of certain sermons and prayers.
But as the sun emerged to usher in a new day, he could not help but feel his heart catch in his throat with every step.
It was bittersweet, he thought, to see a chapel that had remained practically unchanged for the last several centuries while the lands beyond its doors had become anything but. The sheer contrast dredged up all sorts of emotions he’d neither had the time nor energy to process.
Well, he’d sort out his feelings later.
Lumine stood beside him, scanning the ornate doors in contemplative silence. She hadn't said anything since they made their last camp. Just passed him an additional serving — humble fare, but warming all the same. She hadn't even commented on his plan this morning either, if it could be called one, really.
He supposed he should be grateful.
He shook himself. Right now, he needed to put on another show. Lumine and Paimon hung back as agreed, watching the hall from the doors to ensure no one else eavesdropped on the conversation.
With luck, everything would go off without a hitch.
“Excuse me, good sister. Could I have a moment of your time this morning?” He put on his best voice and most charming smile, and batted his eyelashes with practised ease. It was a smile that had won him many concessions and gifts alike over the years, one he now wielded with surgical precision and zero shame. The nun, young and fresh-faced, flushed predictably under his gaze.
“Blessings of the Anemo Archon be upon you, sir bard. How may I help?” She answered shyly.
He laid it on thick, drawing near and lowering his voice into a gentle, soothing whisper. He tamped down on a satisfied grin as the sister mirrored him and leaned in. “I bring information that can save Mondstadt from its current predicament.”
“Oh! Praise be to Lord Barbatos for this fortuity! But why come to me? The Knights of Favonius would be better suited to utilise such news.”
Here goes nothing.
“Because, good sister, you’re the only one who can help us. You see, we need the Holy Lyre. With it, we can save Stormterror–”
The change was instantaneous. “Please see yourselves out.”
“What? Why?” He stared, stunned.
“Because that foolish beast is beyond saving,” she proclaimed gravely, barely trying to hide her disdain. “It betrayed the winds and unleashed senseless violence and terror upon the people. Not even the Anemo Archon would forgive such a transgression!”
He most certainly would! He wanted to fire back, but he bit the inside of his cheek to stop the words from pouring forth. “Surely it does not have to be this way. Why repay blood with blood?”
“I am truly sorry, sir bard.” Her eyes held something like pity, and Venti didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “But once the church has made their declaration and the Acting Grandmaster makes up her mind, there will be no stopping the Knights.”
No, no, no! Didn’t Master Jean declare otherwise mere days ago? What changed? And now even the church was applying pressure on the Knights?
He felt his heart lurch. “That cannot be,” he pleaded. “Please, good sister, I beg of you. The Lyre—”
“—is reserved for ceremonial use under the purview of the church,” she cut in firmly. “It is not to be loaned out for any other purpose.”
“But this is an emergency!”
“I know, sir bard, and may the Anemo Archon remember your zeal. Perhaps you can seek other avenues to help with the crisis,” she answered pityingly. Venti concluded that it leaned more toward crying. “I’m sure a Vision wielder such as yourself is more than capable.”
“Is there really no way for you to make an exception?” He asked frantically. “The Lyre is crucial; you have to believe me!”
The nun sighed wearily, the sound of which echoed loudly across the still empty hall. It was still fairly early in the morning. “You would need to submit an appeal and obtain the signatures of the Sensechal, Grandmaster and the Community Representative. Can you do that?”
Of course he can't. He’s a nobody in the eyes of the city, not even a citizen as far as official records are concerned. Mondstadt would likely be flattened by the time he’s managed to wade through the bureaucratic nightmare of gathering approval from all three branches. The bitter irony of a god unable to even obtain something as simple as a signature from his people. He wisely did not comment on any of the above, but his frustrated silence was all that was needed for the sister to draw her conclusion.
“Then I’m afraid there’s not much I can do for you,” she intoned regretfully. "Now, if you don't mind, I must get on with my duties."
This was spiraling out of control.
“I really didn’t want to do this,” he muttered, “but I guess I don’t have a choice.”
He raised his voice and belted, as dramatically as he could manage. “I can hide no longer! Rejoice, my disciples and behold; the God of Anemo Barbatos has descended!”
The resounding silence within the cavernous chapel was chilling.
"Fear not, for I have arrived in your hour of need! Pray, heed my call to–"
“Until you can produce those documents, the Holy Lyre will remain in the Cathedral,” the nun cut in, tone frigid and eyes narrowed. "Now leave, or I will report you for harassment and blasphemy."
He bolted out the door.
“What in the blazes was that supposed to be?!” Paimon screeched. The trio had made a hasty retreat towards the great statue, unwilling to risk the ire of the rest of the nuns as they began to pour in. The plaza was mercifully empty, save for a frazzled bard, a bewildered blonde and her irate floating companion. “We came here to look for the Holy Lyre, not become lunatics!"
"But we did find the Lyre," he assured, though it felt more directed at himself than at the little fairy, what with the rapid beat of his heart and the maelstrom in his mind. "The good sister confirmed that it's housed in the cathedral."
The answer did not impress the fairy in the slightest. Lumine simply stared at him, her jaw slackened in incredulity.
"What? All things considered, that went as well as it already could," he answered, doing his utmost to stay optimistic. He’d hoped his panicked ace-in-the-hole would buy a moment’s pause — just long enough to speak, but alas it was not to be.
At least the sister did not immediately scream for the guards; that would have been an even bigger mess to untangle. While he certainly could easily escape their clutches, the Traveler was not going to be afforded that same convenience. "Still, to think that she didn't even bat an eye at all…"
“Of course not! Who in their right mind would believe that?” Paimon hissed. The blonde, however, remained silent; studying him with great focus. He could practically hear the gears turning in her mind, a thought that sent a trickle of sweat down his back.
“So what now?” Paimon groused. “Your next step better not be crazy or stupid!”
He prepared himself for the inevitable blowing of the gasket as he leaned in. “Simple,” he began. “Since borrowing it is not possible, we just need to steal it.”
Paimon, predictably, erupted with rage. “What part of ‘crazy or stupid’ did you not understand?!” Vexing as it was, Venti had to admit he was impressed. He didn’t think it was possible for the little critter’s voice to go any higher than it already had.
“It’s not that crazy! Clearly, asking the nuns nicely didn't work.” He ignored the pronounced eye-roll it earned him. “And taking the legal route would take far too long. We don’t have the time to wait for the governing branches to give us the time of day.”
“And so your conclusion is to have us all commit a crime?!” Paimon shot back.
The last of his patience snapped. “Do you have any other alternatives, then?” A harsh breeze whipped past, sending the fabric of his cape fluttering angrily behind him. “Even the church wants Dvalin dead!” Guilt gnawed at him as he wrestled with the rising, ugly tide of emotions.
“B-but!” Paimon stammered, eyes wide as she flinched. “Surely–”
“Paimon, enough.” Lumine’s voice cut through the little pixie’s tirade. She turned to him.
“I’ll be honest, I don’t want to steal anything if I can help it.”
“I wouldn’t suggest it if we had other options,” he replied tiredly, struggling to gather the shredded tassels of his control. “And if what the sister said is true, then we don’t have much time either.”
“Does the Church truly hold that much sway?”
Of course. With everything happening, he’d forgotten the blonde wasn’t fully familiar with the city.
“Under the Seneschal, it’s one of the three governing branches of Mondstadt,” he explained wearily. Even if he wasn’t involved — or, as Vanessa once said, totally absent — from the administrative side of things, it would be utterly remiss of him, of all beings, not to know the basic structure of his city.
“While the Fatui can bark all they want at the Knights, having one of our own push for Dvalin’s death makes things much harder to argue against. Not even Master Jean can ignore their proposal once it’s been put forth.”
The blonde considered this with a contemplative furrow to her brows. “That's bad.”
And wasn't that the understatement of the year? “No kidding. That’s why, if you’re willing, I would like for you to take point on this.”
That got Lumine’s attention instantly. “Me?”
“Unfortunately,” he said apologetically. “I don’t think I’ll be allowed anywhere near the cathedral after what's happened. Plus, I don’t really have many skills suited for ah, well, thievery.” Not any that wouldn’t immediately give him away or cause widespread alarm, at least. Dispersing into the wind had its uses — but even the most devout clergy might grow suspicious if a steady draft began to infiltrate a stone building. And nothing, not even Celestia itself, would be able to make him consider altering his appearance.
He wasn’t going to let anything erode one of the few things he has left to remember his dear friend by.
She eyed the fake Vision hanging proudly on his belt. He rubbed the back of his neck, awkward under her scrutiny. “Furthermore, if I do get caught, there would be no one who can right the grave injustice of my arrest.”
A spark of genuine offence crossed her features. “I am not the kind to simply abandon those I’m helping when things go wrong,” she retorted, her golden eyes burning with indignation.
“I mean nothing of the sort,” he raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Your good repute will be crucial, considering that we are basically circumventing the authority of every major governing branch of the city.” He huffed in wry amusement, if only stuffy old Ragvindr could see him now. “If you attempt to vouch for me in the event of my unfortunate befoulment of the law, it will throw your hard earned reputation under scrutiny and make things difficult.”
“Stop talking about getting caught!” Paimon hissed. “Are you trying to jinx us?”
At the sight of her uncertainty, Venti did his best to be reassuring. “Remember, you’re the Honorary Knight tasked with finding a means to save Dvalin. You being in the inner halls of the cathedral or being near the Lyre would not raise much alarm. I daresay you could easily waltz in and out without much fuss. I, on the other hand, am just a crazy, irreverent bard who’s been talking about saving the dragon who wants to burn this city to the ground.” His heart twisted painfully. “Add to that my penchant for getting routinely drunk at night and being utterly broke, let’s just say it’s better if I’m not seen targeting the most treasured relic of the church.”
“That… actually makes sense.”
She sighed, clearly none too pleased with the conclusion. “Fine, let’s do this.”
The sound of her agreement was music to his ears. “Thank you,” he answered in relief. “I will do everything in my power to ensure you don’t get caught.”
“Are you serious?” Paimon interjected. “Lumi, this is dangerous!”
“As compared to the things we face on a regular basis?” The blonde countered gently. “I know you’re worried, but we gave our word to help.”
It was evident that the little fairy still wished to protest, but a pointed look sent her righteous fury packing. Her resolve deflated in an instant. “Alright, fine.” She conceded, but not before rounding on him with a vicious scowl. “But you better help her like you promised! Or Paimon’s going to be very mad!"
“Paimon, this situation matters to me as well.” He answered in all seriousness, his usual cheer and mirth draining away. “Dvalin and Mondstadt's fate depend on this. You have my word that I will help her come out safe.”
Paimon held his gaze, seemingly trying to search for anything in his expression to pick on. But something in his answer seemed to finally mollify her, and her scowl dialled down into something less overtly irate.
Lumine broke the tension with a gentle pat on the little critter’s head. "Thank you for looking out for me Paimon." There was a glowing warmth under that smile that made his mouth go dry, and the fairy practically preened under the affectionate gesture. "How about you head on over to Good Hunter and get Sara to whip up a good breakfast for us? Start our day right and all."
The shift in the fairy’s mood was immediate. "Can I order anything?" She asked as her eyes shone with hope.
"Within reason ." Lumine chided with a laugh.
"I'm getting the best! Just you wait!" She darted off, drawing bewildered looks from the few passer-bys.
“Sorry about that.” Lumine began once the little pixie was out of earshot. “Paimon means well, but sometimes her temper gets the better of her.”
“No harm done. I could have handled that better as well.” He shrugged and flashed a breezy smile. “But I mean it. I will do whatever I can to ensure this goes off without a hitch.”
“I believe you.” She said, an echo of the answer she gave him that had started their collaboration. It had been scarcely a week ago, yet the earnest ease with which she uttered her trust still made something within him stir.
But duty called, and it was probably to step back and collect himself from the rollercoaster he just endured. “Well, you two enjoy your breakfast,” he began, his mind already drifting to the oak at Windrise. “I’ll meet you again in a little while.”
He turned to leave, only to be stopped by a clasp on his forearm. Her grip was firm but gentle, and it was enough to stop him in his tracks.
“Before that,” Lumine muttered quietly. “There’s something I’d like to clarify.”
He kept his face as neutral as possible. “Oh?”
“Are you Barbatos?”
He froze.
… He really shouldn’t have panicked and played that card.
Venti sighed heavily. “That… might have slipped out, yes. Desperation does strange things.” His words sounded hollow, even to his own ears. “But what’s your point?”
She studied him intently. He found it hard to suppress a nervous shudder. “Whatever your reasons or circumstances… I won’t claim to understand them.” Lumine outlined slowly. “But if you really are Barbatos…”
Then where is he?
The weight of the question hung heavily between them, pulling at the edges of the silence.
Her fingers tightened around his arm.
She had to ask.
Yet–
There was a weariness in his eyes now — heavy, stifling, ancient . Uncertainty that clouded the otherwise deep sea of teal. And underneath that…
Something that looked almost like helplessness.
She’d seen her fair share in all her travels. Knew what it was like to have to squeeze truths out of dishonest parties. It was always the same song and dance. Lies, denial, fear and reckoning.
But this?
The expression across the bard’s face was one she had seen before.
Except…
It was on gold orbs, wild with pain, just moments before he was swallowed by shadow.
She flinched.
And Venti felt it. In the way her grip faltered, and how her breath stilled.
He could see it now. It would be all too easy for her to press him. To demand answers. To decry him and turn away when he inevitably came up empty.
Yet, he knew the folly in reaching for songs beyond the page. To pad his mind with melodies and memories before their time.
Outlanders, descenders — whatever she would turn out to be — they existed outside the laws of Teyvat. They brought with them the will and might to alter the rules of the land. And if they tangled with a god strong enough to subdue one and cripple another…
There was already little that Barbatos could offer.
He didn’t want Venti to have nothing either.
Not when Dvalin had so little hope left.
He blinked in surprise when he felt her grip tighten around his arm. “I’m not abandoning the plan.”
He looked up, and met fire where he expected doubt. “You are not going to be alone in this, I promise.” The warmth of her touch spread through him, and for a moment, he nearly drowned in the quiet, sweeping rush it left behind.
He should kill this line of reasoning right here and now. The last thing he wanted was for her to have chosen out of some obligation — or worse, fear of the divine.
But the intensity of her gaze and the weight of her grip made it hard to wrap his mind around it all.
So his lips moved, for once, against his better judgment. “Why should your decision hinge on whether I’m a god?”
Yet instead of pushing the matter, she let go of his arm, giving him free rein to leave.
He did not.
“It doesn't.” She answered. “God or not, I would help Dvalin anyway.”
“Why?” He asked.
The blonde’s expression turned wan, and something in Venti’s heart broke at the sight. It was too real, and too familiar to him. “I’ve seen enough separation,” she muttered.
The melancholy in her words lingered in his mind long after.
The next several days passed in a blur of stakeouts, whispered plans, and quiet observation. They mapped guard rotations. Traced patrol routes through the plaza. Memorized alleyways and shadowed corners surrounding the cathedral.
And all the while, Lumine remained a steady, focused presence by his side.
He stole a glance at her now — the slight furrow to her brow, the steel in her gaze as she studied the plaza before them.
He really should be grateful.
And he was. But the thing pulling at him now wasn't just gratitude.
He knew of many who'd followed him. Who sang his praises, venerated his statues, and offered lengthy, bombastic prayers to the winds.
But few, if ever, have stood by him.
Those that once did have long since been claimed by time.
She didn't plead. Didn't demand. Didn't scorn.
She stayed.
And perhaps that was what unsettled him.
The unfamiliarity of it, after so long.
But maybe…
It wasn’t that bad either.
Night fell on the city of freedom like any other, bringing the thrumming pulse of the city down into a slumbering tempo. But for a motley crew of three, it was another matter entirely.
“Ohhh this is making me so nervous…”
“Paimon, buzzing around like that and mumbling will only draw more attention to us.” Lumine muttered.
Venti practically glided across the cobblestone to join the pair. “Good, you’re here.” She returned with a casual greeting. “You have your glider with you?” He whispered.
“Of course.” Lumine answered. “You think we’re going to need it?”
Venti let out a nervous chuckle. The winds were suspiciously still this night; he didn’t quite know if it was in their favour or not. “Doesn’t hurt to be prepared. Remember, the stairs behind the altar.”
“Got it.”
“Oh, one more thing.” He beckoned for her to come over, and she complied. Once again, her scent filled his senses — the floral notes of sweet flowers and something like dew. Focus, he chided himself as he extended his hand. “May I?”
She nodded and placed her hand in his, her skin distractingly soft and warm to the touch. The crystals on her scarf shimmered for a moment, burning brightly and bathing her face in the cool, ethereal glow of teal. The beauty of it caught him off guard — face softened by the teal glow, framed by the hush of night, and lit from within by quiet resolve. It was the kind of beauty that made it hard to look away, and harder still to forget.
It took all of his self-control not to outright stare.
Protect her. He sent a plea to the winds. Silence her steps and guard her way .
Blessing conferred, the elemental energies receded, and her crystals returned to their usual cool glow.
“What was that?” She breathed.
“A little boost for good luck.” He answered quietly. “I know it’s been chaotic. But I’m grateful for your help. And your… faith.”
Her eyes flicked up at his words, and something unreadable flickered across her face.
“Once this is all over,” he whispered, “allow me to make it up to you.”
His eyes widened when she gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll hold you to that.” The smile on her face was brimming with nervous energy, but somehow still breathtakingly warm and sincere. Heat bloomed in his cheeks then.
He sent her away with his winds at her heels, resigning himself to the unpleasant task of waiting. The night air was bereft of its usual refreshing coolness, instead hanging stagnant around him. The very notion was already raising the hairs on the back of his neck — there was little more ominous than stagnant air in the land of wind. What was going on?
He got his answer when the doors burst open behind him.
“We’re busted!” Paimon howled. Lumine barrelled through the heavy doors, with a small but angry group of guards hot at her heels. His stomach dropped when he spied the telltale signs of a lightning burn streaked across her arm.
He threw a small gale through the doorway behind them. The chapel echoed with the sound of panicked yelps and clattering furniture as the guards were sent tumbling into one another.
“Follow me!” Summoning a fresh gust, cool currents carried them upwards as their gliders snapped open. But before they could get far, Lumine lost control, causing Paimon to let out a shrill scream as the blonde spiraled into a dangerous tumble.
He dove, catching her just before she could crash headfirst into the statue. They tumbled roughly onto the stone palms.
"Are you alright?!" His heart pounded in his ears.
"S-sorry," she hissed, wincing as she struggled to stand. “M-muscles… n-not listening.” Up close, the tremors were clear now, and angry red welts were blooming along the burn marks.
Fury burned. Who did this? Were his winds so weak that they failed so easily? The thought alone was like a smack in the face.
Angry shouts were growing from the foyer below. It was a miracle that the guards had not yet spotted them, but that would not last long. The commotion would only grow as word spread among the rest of the guards throughout the city.
"We can't stay here!" Paimon buzzed worriedly next to him.
Coming to a decision, he knelt next to Lumine. "Do you trust me?"
Her pained eyes met his – stormy, conflicted, a thousand unspoken thoughts swirling behind them. For one heart stopping moment, it almost appeared that she would not agree.
"Yes."
He tossed his glider aside. It was only going to limit his mobility. Gingerly, he lifted the blonde into his arms, heart dropping as she gasped in pain.
"Hold on to me Paimon," he instructed, and with a single leap, the three were lifted into the sky on unseen currents.
Fleeing the city was out of the question, not with her in this state. It stung — he'd been the one who sent her in and so he was the one who got her into this mess. But guilt would not serve him now, so he focused on finding a place for them to lay low. The city was beginning to buzz now; their little act of failed thievery having stirred the slumbering ant-nest that was the city guard.
He could only hope that the place that sprung to mind would be host to a friendly face.
He all but charged through the doors of Angel’s Share, nearly stumbling in relief when the stoic face of Diluc Ragnvindr greeted him. The winery owner may not be the warmest of folk, but memory served that he was ultimately an honourable man at heart.
The man in question snapped to attention. “What in the–?”
“We’d like a seat at your least conspicuous table, if you don’t mind.” He asked, tone clipped. Paimon remained silent for once, her small hands shaking as she clung to his back.
“Second floor, to the left.” The man was apparently quick on the uptake as well. His Pyro Vision blazed to life under the lamplight. “Should I expect trouble?”
“Not the kind you’re thinking of, at least.” Venti answered as he bolted up the stairs.
Failure. The word kept blaring in his mind. Failed to get the lyre, failed to protect Lumine. Failed to help Dvalin. Again.
Focus. He seethed. He could castigate himself once they were safe.
He barely had the chance to lower the still trembling Lumine from his grip when he heard the doors open anew. He held his breath as his gaze darted to the nearby window. A quick escape would be possible, but it would be tough to keep it quiet. He held Lumine closer, ready to spring if needed. Urgent winds stirred at his feet, ready to answer his call.
“Master Diluc.” Gruff voices drifted from below. “Our apologies for barging in at this time of night.”
“What seems to be the problem?” The Pyro user replied easily, managing to sound almost bored with his question. Venti had to hand it to the man, he certainly could act.
“There’s been a break-in. Have you seen anyone with blonde hair running about?”
“A theft?” Venti could feel the arched brows through the dry incredulity in Diluc's voice. Elemental energy thrummed under his feet as his heart pounded in his chest. “Does that really require you to mobilise this many people?”
“E-erm, well…” The guard stuttered, clearly cowed by the redhead. It wasn't surprising; the young Ragnvindr cut an intimidating figure with his stony glare, towering height, and muscular frame. “The incident involves the church, you see. Two thieves were spotted attempting to steal the Holy Lyre.”
“Huh, that’s certainly odd,” he commented casually, as if he were talking about the weather.
“Isn’t it?” The guard replied in disbelief. “To think that someone would target such a treasured relic–”
“–that they can't even sell off.” Diluc cut in dryly. “You do realise they would make a better killing stealing wine from my cellars, right?” Venti had the distinct feeling that the guard’s awkward silence was disappointing to the redhead.
“Sorry, that’s a bit off topic,” he sighed after a moment. “I haven’t seen anyone come in, but I did hear some ruckus outside towards the gate.”
“U-understood. Many thanks!”
Diluc waited until the footsteps died down before he joined them on the upper floor. “Is she doing alright?” He asked gruffly as he approached them. “What happened to her?”
“We were attacked!” Paimon blurted out frantically. It seemed that she had finally reached her limit for silence. “Some stupid Fatui showed up, took the lyre from us, blasted Lumi and attacked the guards!”
“Fatui?” Diluc’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “What in the Seven–?”
“How about we focus on Lumine first?” Venti cut in sharply, causing the little fairy to flinch. The last thing they needed was for Paimon to give everything away and drag another person into this whole fiasco.
Diluc blinked at the frazzled fairy, before shaking his head with a huff. He turned his attention to Lumine. "May I?" He asked gently, earning him a shaky nod from the blonde.
The sight of the stoic former Knight gingerly inspecting her injured arm would be almost fairytale-like, were it not for the blood and burns under his touch.
“The burns aren’t severe, so some burn salve should suffice after we clean her wounds." He said quietly. "Follow me. She can lie down in the break room."
Complying, he trailed after the winery owner as Lumine remained nestled in his arms. Failure, the voice in his mind whispered traitorously once more. He quashed the ugly mess of emotions that swelled within him.
Diluc led them into a tiny alcove, furnished only with a single cot and side table. Venti lowered her onto the simple mattress, careful to not jostle her too much.
“S-sorry,” she stuttered through gritted teeth. “I didn’t get the lyre–”
“Hush, none of that now,” He soothed, squeezing her uninjured hand and pulling his grimace into what he hoped was a reassuring expression. “Let Master Diluc see to your wounds.”
He excused himself as Diluc began his preparations — healing was never his strong suit and the room was far too small to accommodate all of them. Plus, with his mood darkening and emotions a jumbled mess, he’d likely be useless even as company anyway.
Useless.
He slumped onto a bar stool. Right now, he wanted nothing more than to throw back a cold, stiff drink.
“I suggest you put that bottle back where you found it, bard,” came Diluc’s voice, low and unimpressed as he loomed into view.
Ah, crap.
“Ehe.” Venti offered his most disarming grin in response — but it wilted under the daggers in Diluc’s eyes. With a theatrical sigh, he returned the bottle to its debatably rightful place.
“You left the room rather quickly,” he added, trying to fill the silence.
“The little friend of hers insisted on helping, and I figured the young lady would feel more comfortable with that. So I left them to it.” He replied matter-of-factly as he leaned against the counter. The redhead towered over him despite the casual stance he was taking, and for the first time in ages Venti considered adjusting his height by a smidge. “So," Diluc began. "Care to explain why the Honorary Knight and a moonlighting bard are trying to steal the Holy Lyre?”
“Are you sure you really want to know? This could implicate you in the affairs in the Knights of Favonius,” Venti ventured carefully. He really did not want to involve any more people than he already has. Not to mention that every step of the plan has led to some manner of injury to them.
He didn't want even more people on his already tired conscience.
Diluc merely shrugged at his words. “I’ve already become an accomplice by sending Otto and his men on a wild goose chase. Besides,” he added with mild annoyance. “I always end up getting entangled in their affairs one way or another. And if the Fatui are involved…” Fire blazed in his eyes. “I’m not going to leave it to the Knights to handle.”
Well, he can’t say that he had not been given ample warning. “It’s not going to be what you’d expect,” Venti cautioned him. “Perhaps it would be easier for you to believe me if I told you the story through song.”
Diluc raised an eyebrow. “You wish to sing?”
“It’s a coping mechanism, let me be,” Venti retorted. “Plus,” his eyes darted to the closed door of the break room. “If I can’t do much to help heal, the least I can do is try to soothe her through music.”
The incredulous gaze of the red-head softened in gentle understanding, which gave him pause. His frazzled mind finally connected the dots, and he could not stop the flush from colouring his cheeks. Deciding against addressing the issue, he took a deep breath and summoned his lyre, spinning the tale of Dvalin and his plight.
The tune was mournful yet calming, filling the empty tavern with a sombre melody. The tale was sobering in its reminder of Dvalin's pain and the dwindling window of opportunity they had, but the feel of the strings between his fingers was a much needed grounding amidst the vortex of negativity that clouded him.
Perhaps, he told himself as he brought the tale to its climax, it wouldn't be so bad to get a bit more help for their situation. His greatest victories for Mondstadt were gained through cooperation, after all.
And wouldn't it be the height of poetry for a Ragnvindr to rise to Mondstadt’s aid once more?
Throwing the last of his caution to the winds, he poured his soul into the tale as he brought the piece to a close.
Diluc decided to close the tavern while they laid low. The situation was too delicate to risk their arrest by the Knights, or worse, discovery by the Fatui. Thus, using the tavern — which was due for a stock-taking shutdown anyway — as a base of operations made the most sense. He affixed Venti with the sternest of glares before he left, stating that while they were free to stay, the wines behind the counter were strictly off-limits.
“Touch them and I will know, bard,” he warned, arms crossed and daring Venti to say otherwise. Said bard merely hummed innocently in response, which only served to turn the glare several degrees colder.
Still, the man stayed true to his honourable and gracious reputation; leaving them with food, an extra bottle of burn salve and a fresh pile of bandages, all while promising to return quickly with a healer and his contact. Out of respect for the man’s hospitality, Venti helped himself to only a single, filled-to-the-brim, large tankard of dandelion wine.
See? He could exercise restraint if he wanted!
Yet, as the tumultuous night finally drew to a close, he found himself standing somberly by the door of the break room. Paimon had long since fallen asleep at the pantry table, worn out by exhaustion and fullness from her meal. At least Lumine’s shaking seemed to have stopped according to Paimon, which mercifully meant that there was one less thing to worry about.
He was about to enter when the sounds of muffled whimpers stopped him. He spied the familiar retreating traces of celestial light, and a fresh stab of guilt passed through him. Should he approach? He’s the one who got her into this mess, and it would be ungentlemanly of him to ignore her now. Or should he hang back and give her space? They may be partners in this mission, but did that give him the right to intrude? Or was he effectively still a stranger? Somehow, that thought caused his mood to sour even more.
“Venti?”
Her voice startled him. She hastily pawed at her face, as if the act would erase all traces of the tears leaking out of her eyes.
“Are you alright?” he asked carefully. It was a dumb question, but it was the only one he could ask.
She huffed mirthlessly. “I… There’s no use denying it is there?” she sighed in frustration, her voice cracking slightly. “I must look like a mess right now.”
He wanted to deny it. Assure her that he thought nothing less of her, even with her arm in bandages and tears staining her cheeks. But he held his tongue. Her misery was clear and apparent, running far deeper than the wounds on her arm. This was anguish; not a pain that could be taken away with mere words.
“If you wish to talk about it, I’ll listen,” he offered quietly.
She chuckled darkly then, the sound of which pained him more than he would care to admit. “What’s there to really say? That I’m an idiot?” she muttered, fresh tears welling in her eyes. “That I’m weak?”
“You’re not.” He denied vehemently, fists clenched hard at his sides as he fought the urge to wipe the tears away. It’s not his place, he reminded himself. “You took down that Storm Eye. You fended off Dvalin.”
But Lumine remained unconvinced. “Look at me,” she whispered, shoulders trembling and arm twitching. Her tears were falling now, sliding down her cheeks and dotting the sheets. She looked small even within the cramped room, and her eyes reflected a deep loneliness and loss that twisted his chest. “I’m supposed to be stronger than this,” she choked out. “I’m supposed to be able to shrug these things off. How can I find him if I can’t even–!”
He desperately wanted to take that pain and scatter it to the winds. But it was clear she was now trapped in her own memories, and until she surfaced from them anything he could say would merely sound like useless platitudes. So he waited, hoping his presence would help to ground her while she waded through the murky waters of her emotions.
“Tell me, Venti,” she croaked miserably. “Am I a failure?”
The question caught him off guard, and the agony in her eyes was a blow to the gut.
“Absolutely not,” he answered immediately. “Perhaps there's a lot we are supposed to be. But it doesn't change or take away from who we are or what we do. At the end of the day, it is our choices that define us.”
He knew all too well the feeling of not living up to expectations. Even after millennia, it still stung when he saw the problems caused by his choices and self-imposed limitations. Were he a more involved Archon as was expected of him, Dvalin would probably not end up in his current situation and the rest of Mondstadt’s history would likely be very different.
But just as he knew how it felt to see yourself not live up to expectations, he too knew the dangers of dwelling on what-ifs.
"You’re still the one who paused your steps to help a city in need. A skilled warrior who raised her sword in noble deed. One who looked past savagery to see a soul in pain, who champions redemption for one who would be slain." He took a risk, stepping toward her and carefully extending a hand to rest on her lowered head. “So lift your head, Honorary Knight. A single stumble does not diminish your might.”
A deep shudder passed through her, and that was all the warning he got before she fell into his touch with a strangled wail.
He drew her into a hug, careful to avoid her wounds. She pressed her head into his shoulder and curled her fingers around the front of his shirt, her tears soaking through the fabric. He held her steady, even as his heart dropped at the sound of her cries.
He did not know how long they remained like this, with his arms around her and her shoulders shaking in grief. But she did not push him away, instead curling into him more as time passed.
“I’m sorry for dumping everything on you,” she mumbled after what felt like hours. Her fingers remained curled around his shirt, a silent plea to stay. “I just… I used to be stronger than this.”
“You are still strong; stronger than you believe, in ways that you may not yet perceive.” He replied, not daring to comment further.
“Your words are kind,” she muttered. “But… I am no longer like what I once was.”
Lumine sighed, her breath brittle. “Before…” she swallowed thickly, “Before… I could shrug off injuries like this easily. Now…” She looked at her arm helplessly. “If I can falter this easily, how can I hope to find my brother? Even at the height of my strength, I already failed to protect him.”
She huffed darkly, her voice devoid of mirth. “And now… I can barely remember the face of the god that took him away. What kind of sister forgets the face of the one who hunted and captured her sibling?”
“Why was this god hunting you?” What had they done that managed to draw the ire of the usually slumbering Celestia?
“I… I can’t fully remember what was happening,” she frowned as she struggled to recall. “Only when he woke me up, I saw a sea of flames. We were trying to escape a massive disaster that was spreading to every corner of Teyvat. She showed up and took him away right in front of me.” Her shoulders were trembling again. “I couldn’t do anything to stop it.”
Cold dread gripped him — there was only one event in recent memory that fit that description. He cursed in silence as his chest twisted painfully, knowing that there was going to be a severe limit to what he could say when she inevitably asked. The thought of disappointing her, of failing her hope and witnessing the spark in her eyes fade into dejection... he did not want that at all, he realised.
Not to mention that his own memories of the event were now suspect. The presence of outlanders during such a critical disaster would not have gone unnoticed; the ancient seal that branded her was proof of that. As Celestia’s indentured enforcer and witness, he would most certainly have been alerted to their existence.
The fact that he cannot remember there being one outlander back then — much less two…
He filed the information away, this was for him to deal with another time. Right now, she needed him to be present.
"I was plunged into a long nightmare after that." Lumine continued, silent tears streaming down her face. "By the time I woke up, I couldn’t even tell how much time had passed. I couldn’t remember anything else or tell where I was. Only the knowledge that he still lived kept me sane.” Venti released a breath that he didn’t know he was holding. He did not want to imagine what it would be like if it turned out that her sibling had perished.
“I spent months wandering around trying to survive… until I found Paimon. She’s the one who pointed me toward, well… the statue at the lake.”
He held her in silence, weighing his next words with care. “Yet… when I first saw you,” he murmured, “you were the picture of determination. Even through your words then, I could sense your spirit.”
The fingers around his shirt curled tighter in response.
“You're a survivor, Lumine. Even in the face of Dvalin’s fury, your hand did not waver.”
“Well… I had help,” she muttered, her eyes flicking up to him.
Blinking slowly, he allowed himself a small smile. “It doesn’t take away the fact that you still faced him head on, wielding the wind as if you’ve always known how to.” He wiped stray tear from her cheek, the skin flushing a light shade of pink beneath the touch. “You displayed great fortitude in the presence of a powerful force, restraint in the face of dire straits, and frankly a rather terrifying level of adaptability in spite of your circumstances.” The cheeky comment earned him a small quirk of her lips, sending a spark of relief through him.
“You will find your brother.” He knew it in his bones. If even a failed encounter with the gods of this land did not deter her, he has no doubt that nothing could ever hope to prevent her from locating him. “One minor bump in the road is not going to stop you. And until then,” he drew in a breath, and held her tighter. “I'll be here.”
She leaned into his touch then, eyes shining with gratitude and tears; her body answering where her words could not. Slowly but surely, the tension in her shoulders faded, until all that was left was the steady rhythm of her tired breaths.
"Thank you, Venti." She mumbled tiredly as her eyelids drooped. It must have been utterly exhausting for her.
"Rest, Lumine." He ruffled her hair gently, moving to leave the cot. Sleeping on a table wasn’t ideal, but he has slept far rougher when out in the wilderness. A warm tavern was a luxury compared to his usual spots. "I'll see you in the morning."
Her fingers tightened around his shirt. “Um.” Her tone was brittle and unsure, a far cry from the confidence she carried herself with. She shifted her gaze away, looking strangely shy all of a sudden. “Could… could you stay?” Pink cheeks flush a deeper shade of red. “I don’t want to be alone.”
Heat crept up his neck. But he did not want to refuse her, not while she was this vulnerable. More than anything, he just wanted to see the radiance of her smile once more. Quietly, he lowered himself next to her, shuffling so she could nestle against him safely. She pressed into his side instantly, letting out a long sigh as the tension drained from her.
He did his level best to not think about how soft she felt. Her warmth burned his skin even through the fabric of his clothes.
It didn’t take long for her to slide into the quiet embrace of slumber.
Unfortunately for him, he did not get to enjoy the same fortune.
It felt as if a barrier had been lifted following that fateful night.
Before, they had danced around one another, cloaked in hesitance and half-truths. Testing the waters, extending tentative slivers of trust, wondering if their next move would lead to trouble.
But as they roused to a new day with their shared warmth cocooning and grounding them in comfort, something decidedly shifted when she acknowledged his presence with a gentle smile and grateful squeeze of his hand.
It was refreshing, he thought. He did not want it to end. But time marched on and reality would soon call them to action.
The days that followed blurred together in a flurry of speculation, planning and recovery.
Lumine, as he expected, recovered at an astonishing rate — taking even the visiting healer by surprise.
“In all my years, I have never seen such a speedy recovery.” The man’s mouth hung slightly agape as he revised his diagnosis. He was apparently a personal friend of Diluc, and thus exercised discretion in asking zero questions about their circumstances. “Lord Barbatos must be watching over you.”
The coughing fit that erupted earned the blonde an additional dose of medication. Venti merely grinned from ear to ear as he sipped quietly from his tankard.
Diluc eventually returned proper, bringing the wonderful blessing of a breakthrough and an extra pair of hands to assist them in their quest.
The tavern door creaked open.
Venti's head tilted almost imperceptibly — he’d already heard it, of course. The shift in the winds had warned him as the pair neared the tavern walls.
He just wished the man had bothered to pass on the message.
“Master Jean?!” Paimon nearly fell out of the air in shock.
“Am I about to be arrested?” Lumine asked dryly as she crossed her arms. She shot the Pyro user an uncertain look.
Jean furrowed her brow at Diluc as well, mirroring Lumine’s disapproval of the situation. “You didn’t tell them?”
Curiously, the redhead actually averted his gaze from the Acting Grandmaster. Venti can’t help the snicker that escaped him. In all the time he’s spent awake, he has not seen a single person successfully shame the fiery bartender into silence. The man has threatened, intimidated and outright manhandled men twice Jean's size.
Diluc shot Venti with a glare of his own, but the embarrassed heat behind it merely made Venti laugh harder.
Jean pinched the bridge of her nose, pointedly ignoring the two males in the room. “I’m here as Jean, not as the Acting Grandmaster. No one is getting arrested.”
"Wait, so you're Master Diluc’s contact?" Paimon asked in surprise. "But I thought he didn't like the Knights of Favonius."
"Just because their methods are inefficient doesn't mean they can't be useful." Diluc huffed, giving Paimon a shrug. "Even a broken clock is right twice a day.” Jean let out an exasperated sigh which Diluc ignored.
“Besides,” he continued nonchalantly, pointedly making eye contact with no one. “Jean's a friend."
Uh huh, Venti didn’t believe that for a second.
"So you’re the ones who were attempting to steal the Holy Lyre?" Jean breezed on, unfazed. Blue eyes scanned the three of them carefully, resting on him the longest. Venti hid his nervousness behind an enigmatic grin. "I have to admit, I am surprised."
“It wasn’t our first choice,” Lumine replied. “We did try asking first.”
“I’ll have to thank you for your consideration then.” Jean added wryly. “Although, I actually still do not know why the lyre is necessary for your plans to help Stormterror.”
He steeled himself. This was technically his area of expertise after all. “The lyre can help us restore Dvalin from the corruption he sustained in his previous battle.” His answer drew the attention of the entire room to him. “We are banking on the relationship he has with the Anemo Archon as one of the Four Winds. Since the Holy Lyre is imbued with the wind god’s signature magics, using it should be able to break him free of the Abyss Order’s influence long enough for us to purify him.”
“That's why our hotshot knight here is putting themselves on the line,” Venti added. In the moment, he remembered the nun’s comment, and a surge of protectiveness bled into his voice. “There will be no need to hurt Dvalin. He can be freed.”
Jean remained silent as she took in his words, her expression inscrutable as she contemplated. Diluc huffed as he regarded the armoured blonde. “I know it sounds absurd. Perhaps we need the bard to play his song again.” He turned to Venti. “The Acting Grandmaster can be stubborn, but–”
“I believe you.”
“What?” Diluc whirled around.
Jean met his surprise with a shrug taken right out of his own book. “Nothing about what they’ve said contradicts what we know. Dvalin was indeed one of the Four Winds and, as history records, a staunch protector of Mondstadt and personal friend of our Archon. Even the threat of death centuries ago did not cause it to turn against the city.”
Her gaze sharpened. "Of course, none of this is common knowledge."
Venti chuckled breezily, even as part of him worried if his nerves were bleeding into his laughter. "Well, as a prime practitioner of the bardic arts, it would be remiss of me to not know of the numerous songs that record Mondstadt’s precious history."
"Indeed." Her tone clearly indicated she did not fully buy his explanation. But she eventually shifted her piercing gaze away, and Venti breathed a silent sigh of relief. “This Abyss Order on the other hand...”
“It aligns with what I’m observing on the ground.” Diluc added. “I did spot them more frequently in the outskirts in the weeks leading up to Stormterror’s first sighting. Non-humans, but far more intelligent than any monster I’ve ever encountered.”
The Acting Grandmaster ran a hand through her hair. “Eula has been reporting something similar... Non-humans wielding magic that we’ve never seen… In light of this, I think it's safe to conclude that there is no other reason for Dvalin’s betrayal.”
Vindication. It was sweeter than any wine he has tasted in his life.
“So,” Jean turned to them, “what's the next step?”
They split their attention across the various tasks.
Diluc opted to lead the infiltration of the Fatui hideout for the Lyre, while Jean mobilised the Knights to search for traces of Dvalin’s tears.
“Didn't the Fatui name you persona non grata?” Jean had asked. “You trying to infiltrate their hideout sounds like a bad idea. I can–”
“–I have my means,” Diluc answered gruffly. Then, softening slightly, he added, “it would be best if the Knights don't publicly escalate things. No one else has seen them steal the Lyre, any movements you make will just be spun as a diplomatic provocation.” Diluc sighed. “You don't need that right now, Jean.”
Jean capitulated with a dry, if exasperated tilt to her lips. “Always so convoluted with you.”
Diluc merely grunted in answer.
“Tears?” Paimon arched her brow as she floated before Venti. “How are dragon tears supposed to restore the Holy Lyre?”
Venti affixed her with a playful smirk. “Are you really asking for a deep-dive into the nuances of elemental energies, signatures and harmonic resonance?”
Paimon flinched. “Ah…”
“Yes, actually.” Jean interjected with a studious gaze. “It would be good to know what we're working with.”
Venti nearly dropped his tankard.
He gave what he hoped was a convincing explanation — a mix of supposed theory laced with probable practice, ‘careful' conjecture grounded in not-quite firsthand experience, all dressed in the breezy confidence of a maybe-gifted, reasonably-savvy bard. Jean listened in silence, a hand on her chin the whole while, her expression unreadable as her Anemo Vision glinted under the lamplight.
He heaved a relieved sigh when she eventually nodded.
After a series of close calls and near misses, the group finally gathered around the newly mended Holy Lyre. It hovered in the air, aglow with a deep teal that pulsed gently like a heartbeat, its unseen magics humming audibly against the hush of the tavern.
“Wow…” Paimon breathed.
Venti drew in a quiet breath as his eyes settled on the instrument. Der Himmel — just as he remembered it. It shimmered in the lamplight, threads of memory catching between the strings. For a moment, it felt as though the old winds stirred again, called home by the soundless song it now sang.
And with that, came a spark of hope.
“So, what now?” Diluc asked.
“Now,” Venti inhaled deeply. “We prepare for the day.”
Chapter 4: The Storm
Chapter Text
Strong winds swept through the plain, rolling across the carpet of wild grass in waves. The air churned and whirled, sending tufts of loose petals and leaves spiraling. Overhead, the daytime sky shone strong, with only the shadows of distant clouds marking the otherwise clear expanse of blue.
Venti stood alone at the cliff’s edge, his gaze trained on the vast expanse ahead. Der Himmel weighed heavily in his grip, the last of its trailing notes humming against the wind.
“The Knights have finished their preparations,” Lumine said quietly as she walked up to him. Paimon was absent — given stern warnings to remain behind the safety of the knights. “They’ve been briefed to keep an eye out for both the Fatui and the Abyss Order.”
“Good,” he replied, his voice distant. “And…?”
“The soldiers will stay where they are,” Lumine answered. “Jean made sure.”
He exhaled slowly, feeling the wind brush past them both. “Alright.” Wordlessly, he turned to her. “Then… the last component to the domain.”
Quietly, too easily, she extended an outstretched palm to him. The openness in her stance made something in his chest twist almost painfully.
He cradled her hand in his. “I'm sorry for this,” he murmured.
“It's okay,” she muttered.
Gently, he drew a sliver of air — light and razor sharp — across her finger. Red bloomed across ivory skin. Then, with a final swipe across Der Himmel’s strings, the red shimmered then dissipated, fading into the invisible domain that blanketed the cliffside.
“That should bolster it,” he said as he stepped back. “Hopefully it holds better against the Abyss this time.”
“It will. We're better prepared now.”
“Let's just hope it's enough,” he sighed. The crunch of leaves pierced the silence, and they turned to meet the approaching Acting Grandmaster and winery owner.
“The defensive perimeter is ready,” Jean began. “You're really certain you don't need any more support?”
“I won't risk any more people up here,” Venti answered. “We proceed as agreed.”
“Alright then,” she answered. Without another word, she drew her sword and let her Vision flare to life. The winds answered, rushing obediently to her call as a large halo burst outwards from her in a pulse of light. Immediately the air around them all felt lighter, and the scent of dandelions filled the nostrils of everyone within.
“Stay within the boundary field and it should keep the worst of any hits you take at bay.” Jean instructed. The halo glowed beneath their feet, covering the expanse of the cliffside plain. “I’ll keep it as steady as I can.”
Diluc hefted his claymore, its edges glowing red with Pyro. “Don’t overdo it.”
A dry smile tugged at the Dandelion Knight's lips. “Pot, meet kettle.”
Finally, Lumine’s blade blinked into her hand. A knight’s blade, Venti noted. “I’m ready.”
Venti regarded the three before him, weapons drawn and steel in their eyes. Memories of a millenia prior flashed through his mind. The flood of nostalgia nearly floored him in the moment.
With a final, steadying breath, he turned to the cliff’s edge anew.
“It’s showtime.”
Fingers swept across the lyre, and a lone, mournful string of chords rang loudly across the plain.
For a moment, all was still.
Then the sky split with a thunderous boom.
And Dvalin descended like a storm unbound — bloodstained, blackened, yet still breathtakingly beautiful.
Venti wasted no time in continuing his melody, drawing the darkened serpent in. All of a sudden, the madness that glazed his eyes flickered away.
“You…”
Three pairs of eyes widened in shock.
“He speaks?” Jean muttered.
“Dvalin!” Venti cried, his voice carrying across the chaotic air.
“Why have you come?” The dragon growled, his guttural voice sending tremors through their bones. Lumine gripped the hilt of her blade tighter. “What is done cannot be undone.”
“There is no such thing,” Venti urged, stepping closer to the massive beast. “As music so far gone that it can’t sing.”
“If you truly believed that–” he raised his voice, “–then why is there still sadness in your eyes?”
Dvalin flared his wings, sending a darkened gust toward them. It battered against the walls of the domain, and the bard could feel the walls bending, but holding, under the pressure.
“There is no shame in yearning for this song, Dvalin.” Venti pressed. “Let me help you!”
“Help me?” The dragon’s eyes glowed dangerously. “Only now?”
“I failed you,” Venti choked out, his voice fighting against the oppressive currents. His mind pushed back against the weight of Dvalin’s corrosive pressure. “I should have been there, and I wasn’t. Please, my friend,” he pleaded. “Please, let me right my wrongs with you!”
He weathered the dragon’s acid gaze, even as Dvalin hung on unseen currents with betrayal blazing like wildfire in his eyes.
A spear of dark ice tore through his arm.
Pain seared as pale green light spilled from the wound, flickering like torn silk in a storm. The scent of ozone hit the air. Der Himmel trembled in his grip, and the wind howled—as if mourning one of its own.
The domain’s walls shuddered.
“Do not listen to them,” a voice hissed sharply. A creature of white with a darkened mask floated into view, pulsing with runes and abyssal magic. It drifted next to the massive dragon, almost uncaring of the domain’s counteractive forces.
Diluc inhaled sharply. “Abyss mage! How–!”
“They’ve brought you here to be slain,” it continued, unfazed. It waved a ley branch in his hand, and dark runes snaked outwards to wrap around the dragon’s hide. “Look at their soldiers, all lined up around the cliff. See how they’ve drawn their blades already.”
“No!” Venti shouted, gripping his torn arm as his eyes widened in horror. The runes snaked and swirled around Dvalin, wrapping, trapping, binding. “That’s a lie–!”
“So this is your plan, friend?” Dvalin glowered. The pitch black runes sunk beneath his scales with an ominous pulse. “Then you too can perish with the lot!”
He threw his head back and roared, and the domain around them shattered into pieces.
A mob of hilichurls charged the cliffside, slamming into the wall of soldiers in a deafening clamour.
“Lumine!”
She burst into the sky on a gust of wind, her glider snapping open.
Venti whirled around, shaking fingers reaching for Der Himmel’s strings. A series of panicked notes spilled into the air, and Dvalin’s anger rose into a blinding furor.
“You–!”
Shackles of storm and typhoon exploded into existence. They snapped into place, locking around the dragon like a vice.
“Barbatos! ”
Venti grit his teeth, hot tears streaming down his face as Der Himmel creaked under his grip.
“Purify him!” His voice cracked, torn between prayer and command.
Jean swung her sword, releasing a burst of compressed air that tore upward, slamming into the mage and knocking him off balance. Diluc followed a half-step behind in a blaze of red, flaming streaks joining the wind-born arc and engulfing the flailing mage in a carpet of fire.
Lumine threw herself into a dive towards the dragon’s back, tumbling across bloodstained scales as she struggled to find purchase.
Dvalin thrashed against his restraints, but Der Himmel proved as strong as its ancient history provided. Gale force winds pressed into him from every side, paralyzing him mid-air.
Lumine scrambled against the jagged spike of darkness on Dvalin’s neck. Screeching static filled her ears as she stared into the void-like mass.
She pulled her lips back in a snarl, and plunged her blade into it with a scream.
Dvalin shrieked.
If drawing abyssal poison from Venti had been like tugging stubborn weeds from stone, then purging it from Dvalin was like rupturing the lone vent on a sealed dam. She nearly recoiled from the torrent — oily shadow and ear-splitting static — that slammed into her all at once.
Fate, naturally, had no intention of being kind. The Abyss mage zipped back towards her, slipping past the onslaught of flame from the cliffside below–
–only to be slammed aside in a burst of wind and steel, as Jean crashed into it blade-first, launched skyward by a gust far stronger than anything she could summon herself.
“Jean–!”
“I’ll be fine!” she barked, divine winds howling around her like armour. “Focus!”
Lumine grit her teeth against the torrent of shadowed poison flooding into her arm.
Below, Venti watched in growing horror. Even with the Gnosis, it was debilitating, channelling that much power through Der Himmel while holding Jean aloft, all while fending off the head-splitting rebound from his shattered domain.
His wound — still open, still leaking wind into the world — only made things worse. Abyssal poison clung to it like rot, leaching into his form. He could feel it spreading fast, sapping his strength, fraying his focus and burning his reserves like wildfire on dry wind.
He could see Lumine, her face contorted in battle-fury and teeth bared in a snarl as she faced the onslaught of poison flooding out of Dvalin. Her celestial gold blazed, burning the shadows out of existence.
And yet, it was still not enough. The shadows that surged beneath his scales were forming a dark and ugly mass, burning and grinding away at Der Himmel’s shackles.
Then, he felt it — the pulse of draconic strength, coiled and straining under howling shackles. Angry, bitter, and achingly familiar.
His heart leapt to his throat.
“Dvalin!” He shouted, pain searing the edges of his mind. “Dvalin, please–!”
He simply roared louder, unwilling — or perhaps, unable — to hear the words of a once-friend.
The first of the shackles began to crack.
Venti roared against the pain. He couldn’t fail, not again.
He seized Der Himmel in both hands, his knuckles white as he forced the last of his fading power into the strings. A melody rose, broken and pleading — no fanfare, no command. Just a single thread of sound, spun from grief, from memory, from love.
The air wailed in answer.
Dvalin’s roar faltered, his form trembling. For a single, breathless instant, his eyes seemed to clear — the melody finally reaching across the barrier of poison, shadow and noise.
Then, darkness flooded in.
Dvalin threw his head back in a final, agonized scream.
The shackles burst. A thunderous crack boomed across the cliffside, the ancient lyre fracturing in Venti’s hands. Winds fled from the lifeless strings.
Dvalin reared — howling, pained, frenzied.
Venti collapsed to the ground.
“He is down!” The mage shouted. “Go and–”
Draconic fury blasted outward in an unstable arc, sending the mage tumbling from the sky with Jean in tow. Vision blazing, she drove herself and her blade forward as they spiraled, driving her blade clean through the creature’s chest just as they crashed onto the cliff, the impact wrenching her weapon from her grip.
Jean rolled to a stop, armour crushed, red streaking through blonde hair, the ghost of divine winds scattering from her haggard form.
Alive.
The mage fared little better, with nearly three feet of steel buried in its chest. Still, it staggered to life, dark magics buoying it as it scrambled away. A white branch — broken and splintered — was cast from its grip, and immediately the air snapped apart with an unseen crack as it fled, leaving a trail of shadowy ichor in its wake.
In the distance, the remaining hilichurls howled. Snapped from their battle frenzy into a stupor, the advancing wall of attackers suddenly fell apart, the hilichurls rooted in place in a daze. The knights wasted no time. They charged back with a roar, descending on the disoriented mob with renewed fury.
Dvalin shrieked once more, wings beating in a desperate spiral. Darkened winds exploded into frenzied twisters, tearing Lumine from the dragon’s back. She tumbled violently, limbs flailing, before finally righting herself — only to crash hard into the far side of the plain.
Dvalin surged upward, higher, away. Into the clouds, into the storm, into silence.
The cliffside quieted, but not peacefully.
Diluc staggered to Venti’s side, his clothes singed and skin red from wounds. “We need to retreat,” he said, panting heavily. “Now. While we still can.”
No one argued.
They had not won.
But, for now, they had survived.
The first thing Lumine felt was weight.
Not pain, at least, not yet. That came second, trickling in like water seeping into stone, spreading both ice and fire through her nerves. But the weight came first. Her limbs felt like lead, her chest banded in iron, and her vision felt more akin to soup than anything else.
Wordlessly, almost on reflex, she reached for the smattering of starsparks in her.
The stuttered blink of gold was her only answer.
Groaning, she lifted her eyes. The sun now hung low in the sky, mottled with the remnants of greyed clouds. The wind, once howling and heavy with the scent of storm, now hung still — barely stirring the trees overhead.
She shifted, just enough to feel the scratchy sheets of her cot, the pull of bruised muscle, and a deep ache blooming down her shoulder and hip.
Well. At least nothing felt broken.
Not far from her, voices murmured. She blinked blearily as the sounds resolved into shapes.
Paimon dozed at the foot of her cot, her brows drawn in tension amidst fitful sleep. Jean stood in the distance, at the edge of a narrow slope, her back slouched with weight and left arm in a makeshift sling. Her armour was nowhere to be seen, her hair matted with dried blood. Diluc stood behind her, coat missing and covered in bandages, watching her as she spoke with one of the knights. It was difficult to hear the exact words exchanged, but Lumine caught the edges of a scouting report and a headcount.
She knew enough to know that the number she heard wasn’t the same as the one they began with.
Her eyes scanned the camp that she was in, a hastily assembled shelter in the wake of the cliffside clash. All around her the knights scurried about, exchanging harried reports, tending to the wounded, watching the skies and edges of the trees.
Still, as she staggered to her feet and ignored the bolt of pain that lanced through her, she couldn’t find who she was looking for.
It was telling of the frazzled, overwrought mood of the place, that nobody noticed her limping out of the camp.
Pain bloomed with each step, but Lumine didn’t care. She’d survived far worse, something like this was hardly going to stop her.
At last, her eyes fell on a lone form slumped against a crumbled boulder. Der Himmel lay in pieces next to him, winds curling faintly around it in mourning.
He didn’t stir even when she lowered herself next to him.
“You’re alright,” he muttered, voice distant and gaze unfocused.
“Yeah,” she answered quietly. “How’s your arm?”
“Nothing a little illusion can’t fix,” he hummed, the words toneless and flat. “Though, I can’t say the same for the poison.”
Lumine slipped a hand over his. She blinked in surprise when he pulled away.
“You’re still recovering.” Venti looked at her. His eyes, dimmed and distant, carried none of its usual spark. Not even a trace of the mischief that would usually shimmer underneath. All that greeted her was the sight of hollowness pooling in deep teal.
It tore at her harder than she cared to admit.
“You tried,” she murmured, her words sounding bare even to herself. The bitter taste of ash returned to her tongue.
Venti huffed quietly, the sound tired and brittle. Lumine sank back against the boulder. It didn’t take a genius to know how hollow that comfort was.
Her next words came out sharper than she intended. “It’s not your fault.”
Teal eyes darted to her.
“It’s not your fault,” she repeated, her voice cracking. “You tried.”
Tears burned at the corners of her eyes as her chest tightened.
But it’s always too late, isn’t it?
Her fingers dug into her palms.
His gaze remained on her, tracing the lines of her rigid, shaking frame, chasing the shadows behind watery orbs of gold. For a moment, he felt the urge to fill the silence.
But nothing came.
Instead, he shifted closer, the edges of his cape tickling her skin. Soft winds brushed against them both as they sat in stillness.
“... I felt him, you know,” he eventually said. “For a moment, I saw him.”
“I know,” she muttered. “I felt it too.”
“And I still bound him.” The word dripped from his lips like a curse, stirring the air around them.
He blinked when he felt it. Soft fingers — tired, trembling, yet solid — curling around his once more, a quiet heat resting on the edge of his knuckles while leaving just the barest sliver of space between them. The searing burn of poison dulled in response.
The combined sensation nearly undid him in the moment.
Venti drew in a quiet, shaking breath.
And stayed.
Overhead, the faintest rustle of leaves was the only sound to punctuate the stillness as he let his fingers curl into hers. Steady presence and fragile relief anchored him as he sat, tremors in his shoulders and aching hollowness in his chest.
After a long while, he found his voice again. “... I hate the Abyss so much,” he whispered.
He felt a gentle squeeze in answer. “Yeah.”
They continued to sit, a heavy silence blanketing them both. She allowed her tears – quiet and hot – to flow, both for herself and the bard beside her. Fairness, she thought, was truly a foolish wish to ask of the cosmos.
Even with guilt gnawing at her insides and shame burning through her, the wind swirled gently around her, rustling her hair in gentle waves.
She’d encountered many deities throughout her travels. Pompous ones with heads far larger than they deserved, distant ones who deemed it a sin to rouse their attention. She’d seen creators who watched their worlds with detached amusement, and tyrants who gripped their subjects with fists of iron.
Few, if ever, truly cared.
Fewer still, stayed.
She felt a wisp brush past her cheek, tugging at the trail of tears.
Slowly, but surely, her free fingers uncurled from her palm.
Then, she felt Venti’s fingers squeeze hers back. Slowly, softly, closing that little sliver of space between their fingers with warmth; a grounding touch and wordless thanks. She released a breath, the contact tugging the corner of her mouth into a faint smile despite the watery stains on her cheeks.
It was enough to pull a mirrored one on his own.
After a moment, his fingers pressed against hers once more, firmer and quicker this time; a wordless call to attention. The wind shifted with his glance, curling faintly before drawing in the distant sound of approaching footsteps. Teal eyes — now slightly less hollow and a little more full — flicked to hers; gentle, questioning.
Lumine blinked once, before nodding.
Joined hands pulled apart in tandem, not from shame, but the shared thread of understanding that passed between them in the moment.
Time to move.
“My apologies,” Jean murmured as she approached slowly, her brows drawn in concern. “There was a bit of a shock when Paimon couldn’t find you in the camp.” Beside her, said fairy hovered, her cadence stuttered and her face white with worry.
Lumine winced as Paimon barreled into her side, little fingers trembling as she gripped her dress. “Sorry,” Lumine whispered, patting her back gently.
“Lumi’s an idiot,” Paimon grumbled into her garment. “Paimon’s not sharing any food with her later.”
“Yes, yes…”
“At least you’re able to walk.” Diluc said quietly, half a step behind. “A good sign, all things considered.”
“Then, Lord Barbatos– I mean, Venti,” Jean began, catching herself. “Would you like to hear some updates to the situation?”
Venti cracked a small smile at her. “Go ahead. And… thank you. For using the name.”
Jean blinked once, before clearing her throat. “The situation is as follows: we’ve confirmed that the Abyss mage survived. I don’t know how it did,” she sighed tiredly, adjusting her sling with some effort, “considering I left more than half my blade buried in it when we crashed back down.”
“Which just means it’s going to keep being a problem until we eliminate it,” Diluc muttered darkly. “We need to cut the head off the snake.”
“That brings us to the next part; some good news, at least. Scouts — well, Diluc’s contacts, to be precise — managed to track it down.” Jean gave them both a weighted look. “The last report places it south of the winery.”
Lumine turned to the redhead, eyes wide. “Are you sure you can still be here?”
Diluc shrugged. “Don’t worry. I secured the estate beforehand. And besides,” he added with a small huff, “I’m under orders to stay put.”
“I don’t actually have the authority to order a civilian,” Jean murmured, gazing sidelong at the redhead. “But we all need rest.”
The Pyro swordsman crossed his arms. “Don’t give me that look,” he muttered.
“Then don’t make me use it,” she returned, dry as ever.
“Normally, I would agree,” Lumine interjected, ignoring the pain in her shoulder. Paimon tightened her silent hold on her dress. “But I don’t think Dvalin has that luxury.”
“No, he doesn’t,” Venti sighed, his gaze falling on the splintered pieces of Der Himmel next to him. “We cannot let him, or the Abyss order re-gather strength. We will need to press forward, sooner rather than later.”
“The real question,” Diluc asked, “is where Dvalin went. Tracking the mage is one thing, but it’s another thing entirely for something his size.”
“Then it’s a good thing I know where he’s made his nest,” Venti replied. “Old Mondstadt. But the place is surrounded by a horrendous barrier, even I can barely parse the magic laced through it.”
He crouched, gently gathering the lyre’s fragments into his hands. “I’ll go ahead to study it more closely. I have a hunch the barrier’s tied to abyssal interference, but I won’t know for certain until I feel its rhythm up close once more.”
A hand caught his sleeve before he could rise fully.
“Then I’m going with you,” Lumine said. Her voice was even, but firm, steel sheathed in wind. “I can help with that.”
Venti blinked once, before offering his first steady smile of the day. “Then… I’ll be counting on you.”
Jean gave a short nod. “Very well. Then here’s my proposal…”
By the time they settled back into camp with new plans drawn, the fires had burned down low. Diluc departed with a forward unit to intercept the mage, while Jean remained behind to organise the remaining forces' slow advance toward the ruins, while ensuring the injured could be stabilised for a retreat to the city.
All threads led toward Old Mondstadt, but only two would walk ahead, toward the storm.
“Paimon still thinks that this isn’t really wise…” Paimon mumbled, her eyes darting to the dark expanse ahead. “You– well, neither of you are fully okay yet.”
They stood at the fringes of the camp, just past the reach of the fire’s light. Long shadows cast themselves over the ground, while stars shone in the sky overhead. Beyond them, the edges of the forest path loomed — dim, tangled, and foreboding.
Thankfully, they had no intention of passing through that.
“It’s our only option to make up for lost time,” Lumine intoned. “And besides, I’ve endured far worse.”
“That doesn’t make it any better!”
“It will be okay, Paimon,” Lumine gave her a reassuring smile. Then quieter, she added: “I can handle myself in the skies, you know that.”
Paimon stared, unconvinced.
Venti stepped forward. “The swiftest of Teyvat’s winds will be our helpers tonight, Paimon. And with the Traveler cleansing the poison from me, there is no risk of things going awry.”
He shifted, his voice solemn. “She will be safe, you have my word.”
The fairy hovered in place as her eyes remained fixed on the bard, searching.
Then, she floated back, her gaze now heavy with something Lumine could not name. “You better take care of her, Tone-Deaf Bard.”
Lumine turned to her in confusion. “What are you–?”
“I’ll stay here,” Paimon said, her arms crossed in front of her chest like a shield, almost daring the blonde to argue. “Someone needs to keep an eye on Jean, without Diluc around she’s going to work herself into another injury. At least,” Paimon coughed into her fist, “Diluc said so. Very sternly.”
Lumine stared.
“Now go,” Paimon shooed them away with a flick of her hand. “Dvalin doesn’t have time for us to dawdle.”
She zipped away before Lumine could even open her mouth to speak.
“... is everything okay?” Venti asked in caution.
Lumine heaved a small sigh. “She’s just… trying to help me.” Heat crawled up her neck. “In a weird, convoluted way.”
She was absolutely going to shake whatever assumption Paimon was making out of her head once they met up again.
Venti blinked, before deciding that he didn’t want to read too much into it. It probably wasn’t wise to be distracted. Stepping up to her once more, he held out a hand. “Then… are you ready?”
With a final nod, she slipped her hand into his.
They turned from the firelight, and stepped into the breath of open sky.
The wind lifted them upwards; soft, sure, and unerring.
Venti rose in a quiet flurry of leaves, Lumine cradled in his arms while her hand settled over his chest, her fingers curling softly into the fabric of his shirt. Within moments, he could feel the burn within him cooling, its weight replaced with lightness and relief.
Under the veil of night, a god and a warrior — bard and knight — sailed through a sea of stars.
With the wind carrying them, it was impossible not to notice how light she was in his hold. The way her hair and raiment fluttered in the currents made her seem even less tethered, like she herself had coalesced from the sky they were moving through into his arms.
The thought was enough to make something in him stutter for the briefest of moments.
Lumine tilted her gaze skywards, observing the ocean of starlight strewn across the vast expanse of velvet dark in quiet awe. The world below had long since blurred into shadow, and the wind carried them forward, steady and unseen.
“You know…”
His eyes darted to hers, attentive.
“We used to do this all the time,” she murmured. “Watching the stars.”
Cool hands tightened around her, just perceptibly.
“I used to think that as long as we were under the same sky and able to see the same stars, that we’d never be truly alone. But now…” Her voice wavered but did not break. “Now I’m not so sure.”
“Is this the first time you two have been apart?” he asked softly.
“Not really,” she replied. “But never for this long. Or like… this.”
Venti didn’t answer. He simply listened.
“He would have loved this,” she added, a quiet huff escaping her. A wry smile tugged at her lips. “Even back home, he’d always drag me out to watch the night sky.”
He tilted his head. “Then... what’s your home like?”
She opened her mouth, only to catch herself.
“It’s okay,” he murmured, fingers curling around her. “You don’t have to tell me.”
The wind fluttered around them, smooth and soothing.
Then, after a long breath, she loosened slightly in his hold. “I suppose… you already know?”
“Not on purpose,” he answered gently. “It’s more a result of my nature.”
Then, with a touch of cheek, “That, and you asking questions no one on Teyvat typically would.”
She huffed dryly. “So much for flying under the radar.”
“Well, you are flying right now — and quite high up, if I might add.”
Her eyes rolled skyward, and Venti felt his lips pull into a genuine smile.
She gazed at the stars around her once more, watching them wheel past in glassy silence. “My home….” she hummed. For a moment, she simply breathed, until sights and sounds she thought long-shelved from time and grief washed over her.
“It’s a place of rolling hills and grassy plains,” she murmured. “Large fields of flowers in every colour you could imagine. Air that shimmered in cosmic winds. And a boundless sky as far as the eye can see, but not quite like here.”
She tilted her head slightly. “It has far more stars and… it’s not blue, but…”
Gold eyes flicked to him — warm, deep and glimmering with a myriad of emotions.
“Kind of like… the colour of your eyes, actually.”
For the first time in a long while, Venti found himself at a loss for words. The world seemed to pass by in quiet suspension, with only the soft rustle of wind, the rapid blur of shadows below, and the distant blink of stars to fill the space.
Then, clearing his throat, he said, “Your home sounds like a beautiful place.”
She hummed again, her eyes distant as she turned back to survey the skies.
“It was.”
His shoulders tensed. It was difficult to ignore the way his heart ached at the words; sharp, quiet — like a string pulled too tight. And tragically… utterly familiar.
“It’s okay,” she whispered, curling a little more into him. Though… was it more for his comfort, or hers? It was hard to tell. “It was a very long time ago.”
Then, quieter still, she added: “It’s why we traveled far and wide to begin with.”
He pressed her into himself a little more firmly, careful to avoid her injuries. Her presence — still light, still buoyed by the winds — now formed a solid weight against his frame. “Then… Thank you. For sharing it with me.”
The last of the poison had long since faded from his body. Still, her uninjured arm remained where it was, her hand resting gently on his shirt, hovering above his heart.
The idea came to him like second nature. Only, it was no longer just something he thought of because of what he was.
Venti looked at her, his chest stirring with fluttering, urgent winds.
“Once this is over…” he spoke, echoing his own words. It hadn’t been long ago that he’d uttered them to her, the beginnings of a promise and an answer to faith. The time that had passed since was a mere blink compared to his entire existence.
Yet now, with her in his arms — her hair floating in the wind like gold silk, her eyes reflecting the constellations like the smoothest of mirrors — it felt like it carried the weight of a lifetime.
“If you’d like, I could help write about your home in song,” he offered. “It’s how we preserve memory here. How we make sure those that are important to us are never forgotten.”
For a moment, Lumine stilled in his hold, her eyes widening by a fraction.
Then, she smiled. Full, warm, and hopeful.
“... I’d like that.”
He already knew. It would be his most extensive work in ages.
Promise made and resolve written, he turned them toward the bones of his old home. Ahead, the clouds thinned, revealing jagged silhouettes etched against the sky — ruins worn smooth by time and storm.
It was only fair, he supposed, to share his own.
The first rays of dawn crept across the edges of the mountains; across the rough, jagged spires of stone that outlined the division between earth and sky. Dried trees — shrouded in shadow and devoid of leaves — lined the boundary, fingers of dead wood seemingly reaching upwards from the desolate land they stood on, infringing on the domain of the vast, cloudless sky above. Morning winds stirred across the land, blowing through long leaves of grass and curling past wood and stone alike.
A lone figure clad in ivory and blue stood at the edge of a high cliff, her gaze cast below over ruins sprawled in a canyon seemingly carved into the mountains itself. Save for the lone tower in the middle — a hollow spire reaching toward the heavens — the rest of the place was hard to see. The barrier that swirled violently at the ruin’s edges reached even this high, licking at the edges of her spot in the mountaintops. But there was no mistaking the melancholy that permeated the area, a toneless but haunting aria of an age long past, the air itself heavy with the dust of a civilisation eroded by water, wind and time.
The feel of it all tugged at something deep within her chest.
The place was fallen. Hollowed. Empty even.
Yet, not truly dead.
“You see it too, don't you?” Venti murmured beside her.
She nodded. Even here, past the barrier and far removed from the ground, she could spy the pulses of magic that lingered still on the bones of buildings, etched into the stones and even the cliff faces. And right there, within the hollowed remains of the lone tower, pulsed the brightest one — a beacon against the stillness of the ruins around it.
“A place long gone, yet refusing to be forgotten…” Venti huffed gently, his lips pulling into a wry smile. “Dvalin always was far more lyrical than he would admit.”
“Any progress with the barrier?” she asked.
The bard’s shoulders drooped. “Not much. The magic fueling it is Dvalin’s for sure, but something is still blocking me from reading the air currents inside it thoroughly. It’s hard to counter the rhythm of something that you can’t hear.”
She reached forward tentatively, her fingers splayed outwards as she neared the barrier. Strangely, the shadow and static she anticipated to feel was nowhere to be found.
“Huh,” she blinked. “I can’t feel any disharmony at all.”
“Then it’s as I feared,” Venti slumped. “The abyssal interference is simply blocking me and amplifying what’s in him. He’s the one that truly put this here.”
Sighing, his eyes turned to the tower. Without a doubt, it was where his old friend was now perched, bleeding and broken. To think that, not too long ago, the young vishap had been an open book to him, his moods and thoughts woven into the very air around his wings and scales, humming around his presence like a constant melody.
“Oh Dvalin…” he whispered. “How long have you endured your pain, to retreat like this?”
Then, something in the wind shifted. Venti tensed.
“Wait–”
The barrier, once violent yet silent, muted yet unwavering, suddenly surged to life with a rushing, roaring cacophony.
Venti yelped, covering his ears.
Lumine’s blade jumped to her hand. “What is it?” Gold eyes darted about warily.
“No, no, it’s okay,” he muttered, palming his head as an ugly storm of noise thundered between his ears. It slammed into him with all the grace and sound of a horde of drunken, angry hilichurls out on the world’s hardest bender. “I think I just regained my link with him.”
She blinked. “Then… I guess the Abyss mage is gone.”
“Seems like it,” he stated grimly. He owed a life’s worth of gratitude to Diluc. Summoning Der Frühling into his hands, he fixed his eyes and ears on the vortex ahead. Slowly, but surely, amid the storm of incoherent and frankly, god-awful noise, he heard it.
Pain, fear, confusion, betrayal, regret, anger. A myriad of emotions bled out of the swirling winds, each one more powerful than the last as they fed and blurred into one another. Emotions, mixed in with the very palpable voice of the friend he once knew.
It hurts.
I don’t want to be this way.
Venti felt his heart shatter.
His grip tightening around Der Frühling, he ran his fingers across the strings, each note that rang out a plea and a prayer. A melody soon spilled into the air — one of forgiveness, freedom from pain, and assurance that things could start over anew. Around him, the winds stirred in answer, glowing bright with divine power as he rose and hovered over the ground.
Wild magics — initially stubborn and uncowed – slowly bent in answer to the song’s call, pulling taut from the edges of the barrier. Song and storm tugged at one another, locked in a wild but graceful dance.
Then with a final chord, the tension shattered, and the stormy veil scattered into iridescent strings, ceding to the melody. Coaxed from its violence and hatred, the unraveled threads of wind that made the barrier dissipated, slipping back to join the breezy air currents that blew through the skies once more.
Lumine stepped forward as the full sight of Old Mondstadt came into view.
Venti landed next to her, a relieved yet melancholic breath escaping his lips.
“It’s beautiful,” she murmured to him, her eyes sweeping the vast expanse below.
Venti lowered his lyre as his own gaze fell on the ruins.
“It was.”
It wasn’t long before the air stirred with the sounds of heavy footfalls.
“Lumi!” Paimon cried, flying ahead of the approaching group and into the blonde’s outstretched arms.
“Easy, easy!” Lumine chuckled, clutching the little fairy close to her, careful to avoid her bad shoulder. It had mostly healed and the pain had dulled into an ache at most, but it never hurt to be cautious. “It’s only been a few days.”
“Still! I was worried sick!” she insisted, floating out of the blonde’s hold. She gave Lumine a once-over, her gaze sharp and meticulous. “So, it went well? No scratches? Bruises? Missing hair?”
“It went fine, you worrywart.” Lumine gave her a gentle shove. “And don’t think I’ve forgotten, ma’am.”
The fairy put on a frankly impressive approximation of innocence. “About what?”
“You know what,” she shot Paimon a pointed look. “Whatever made you give that flimsy excuse to stay.”
Paimon huffed, crossing her arms again. “It was all true–”
“–and boars fly.”
“Well, you did, so–”
“–what?!”
Jean approached, her hair now cleaned and neatly tied, her expression clearer than it had been since the confrontation at the cliff. Behind her, Diluc followed with slow steps, having rejoined the group following the success of his task.
“Ah, good. You’re both safe.” She turned, beholding the entrance to the ruins. “And it seems you’ve succeeded too.”
“All thanks to Master Diluc’s swift intervention,” Venti said. He gave the redhead a grateful smile, then dipped into a graceful bow. It was hardly enough to repay the grandness of the favour the man had done for Dvalin, but it would have to do for now. The winery owner huffed softly, but otherwise accepted the gratitude with grace and a silent nod.
Turning back to the ruins, Venti continued, “Now we can proceed. Dvalin will be resting at the top of that tower.”
“But without the Holy Lyre, is it still possible to save him?” Diluc asked, turning to Venti. The movement opened the coat that hung loosely on the man’s frame, revealing a fresh set of bandages.
“I mean, I’m ready to do whatever it takes, even if it means striking him down,” the redhead continued, seemingly ignoring the injuries that he was nursing. The Abyss Mage must have done a number on him. “But Jean’s the one who wants to avoid something so direct.”
Blue eyes narrowed. “Not quite, though the question is valid,” she said pointedly. Her arm, still bound in a sling, twitched restlessly. “If we have no options left and it comes to that, it’s my responsibility to alter our course of action, regardless of my personal opinion.”
“Thankfully, it won’t need to come to that,” Venti answered, a breezy smile masking the shudder in his spine. He was going to fight tooth and nail to make sure it wouldn't.
“Because the Lyre wasn’t our trump card.” His hand landed on Lumine’s shoulder, drawing the Traveler out of her spat with Paimon. She blinked, her attention drawn back to the group.
“She is.”
Paimon blinked in confusion. “She is? Even after what happened?”
“Our cliffside confrontation might not have been successful, but it did prove that the abyssal influence from him can be removed.” That pulse of Dvalin’s signature essence was too distinct to mean anything else. “We just need to clear the stage so that the performance can go uninterrupted.”
And, he thought to himself, fate willing.
Jean nodded in understanding, her relief visible in the lines of her shoulders. “Very well. I’ll ensure that our forces secure the ruins.”
Diluc shrugged. “I’ll help.”
“Be careful though,” Venti cautioned, his eyes scanning the broken buildings and forgotten paths ahead. Already he could hear the jagged noise of monsters drifting through the air. “While hilichurls usually avoid places with high elemental energy, I think the Abyss Order’s influence on them might have altered their behaviour.”
His gaze fell back on the Acting Grandmaster’s injured arm and the redhead’s bandaged limbs. “Don’t get caught off guard.”
Jean nodded once, already scanning the path ahead and drawing plans. “Understood.”
Venti raised his arms in mock defense. “Hey, now, I’m just a normal bard. Don’t go treating me like a general. I might even be the weakest of the Seven at this point.”
She blinked at him, unsure of how to react.
“Such a humble god we have,” Diluc sighed to himself. “Is it a blessing or a curse, I wonder?”
The trek to and up the tower was, to nobody’s surprise, a tedious affair. Other than the nests of monsters, wandering automata and pockets of hilichurls littering the expanse of the ruins, every straightforward path toward the central spire was either blocked or cut off completely. The knights ran interference and laid down defensive lines where they could, ensuring that he and Lumine could carve a path forward, with Jean and Diluc — steadied by divine winds — following close behind.
Venti would have loved to simply launch all of them to the top of the tower. But with the sun shining overhead and eyes sure to be watching all around, even the blind would likely notice four people flying into the sky.
That, and it was probably wiser to save his strength anyway.
He huffed to himself, spinning out of the way of a hilichurl’s angry club. If only Morax could see him now.
Whether all the obstacles were due to the Abyss Order’s machinations, Dvalin’s own harried interference, or the ruins and its magics falling to time was hard to pin down definitively. Still, it was with a collective groan and mirrored stony glares that they approached the unnatural barrier of wind that surrounded the edge of the tower. Its presence was nothing but a hindrance, and precious time had to be spent navigating the hollowed-out building, whose otherwise bare and crumbled walls were turned into a stony maze littered with monsters.
Venti considered it a miracle that they managed to reach the top with minimal injuries, and just before night fell across them all.
“This is it,” he intoned gravely, his voice bouncing off the stone walls. The old dome top may have been weathered and riddled with new holes since he last saw it, but the sight of it — worn stone with ancient sigils glittering beneath — still stirred up a wave of unease within him.
Some memories, he supposed, were hard to forget.
“Uh, dumb question but,” Paimon asked as she drifted aimlessly. “I don’t see Dvalin anywhere.”
“He’s here,” Venti affirmed. “He’s probably retreated to the domain that’s sealed within this tower.” He directed the group to the hole in the floor, which flared to life on his approach. He studied the massive sigils that covered the gap, swirling before them in silence. “Looks about right,” he murmured. “There’s only him in there, the seals haven’t let anything else enter with him.”
He said nothing of how he recognised the old sigils, or how Dvalin had likely repurposed them. Or the fact that his longtime friend was making use of what was probably once the private abode of the tyrant god that ruled here a long time ago.
The tyrant god that knew nothing of humans, such that his own people rebelled against him.
The tyrant god who, upon being slain, unleashed enough energy to blow a hole through the roof of his own fortified tower, and decimate the city below.
The tyrant god whose final act of destruction claimed the lives of many. Those of his comrades-in-arms, and that of a dear friend.
Yeah, best not to think about that at all.
“Then I guess this is where we part ways,” Jean spoke, her sword clutched in her hand.
“You’re not coming with us?” Lumine asked, blinking in surprise.
“I better stay behind to coordinate the defense. These ruins are mostly uncharted territory for us. And,” she continued, “someone needs to stay behind to ensure nothing else comes up to interrupt.”
“That, and there’s no telling how long you two are going to need,” Diluc added. “If the Abyss Order catches wind of what’s happening here, a counterattack is basically guaranteed. The forces here need all the help they can get.”
“A-and I’ll help too!” Paimon interjected, uncertainty flickering across her face even as she moved to hover over Jean’s shoulder. “An extra pair of eyes and all that!”
Venti nodded, the knot in his chest loosening by a hair. Fewer people to get caught in the crossfire, then. Or at least, the worst of it.
He sent one final melody towards them, and the protective winds curled around them flared in answer. Ancient sigils — bright and pulsing — hovered over their shoulders, before disappearing in a flash of teal that made even the nearby Visions glow from the resonance.
“May your wills stay strong and blades swing true,” he breathed solemnly, eyes aglow and braids fluttering in the currents. The air around them instantly shifted, the distinct yet quiet weight of divinity settling over them all. “And know that whatever the outcome, your deeds will be immortalised in song and tune.”
Jean and Diluc stared at him, eyes wide with awe. Then — in a blink — resolve returned, straightening their stances and shoulders. Jean gave a nod and turned briskly on her heel with Diluc in tow, and Paimon flitting just behind them.
The little fairy turned back to him. Her eyes, wide with worry and unspoken fear, darted to his.
Venti didn’t need words to understand her meaning.
He sent her away with a promise whispered to the wind.
Inhaling deeply, he moved back to the sigil on the floor, staring hard. The sigil’s energies stirred beneath him, ready to yield with the lightest of touches — a gentle push would be all that was needed for them to break through.
One step, and he would be face to face with Dvalin once more.
Only this time, there would be no retreat.
He was drawn out of his thoughts by a gentle pressure on his shoulder.
“We’ll free him.”
Venti turned to meet Lumine’s gaze. Determination burned within eyes of gold.
Drawing a final, steadying breath, he nodded.
It’s showtime.
Lumine opened her eyes to the sight of what might as well have been another world.
She found herself on a platform of stone suspended in the midst of a stormy sky. The stone beneath her feet felt solid and sturdy, even without any visible foundations holding it aloft. All around her, thunderclouds roiled and churned, forming a curtain of darkness punctuated only by the occasional flash of lightning and rumble of distant thunder. Harried, frantic currents blew through the space — yet the air still felt almost viscous with its wrongness, heavy with the scent of ozone and blood.
And of course, that familiar buzz of discordant static was present too, filling the spaces between the rumbling booms with an irritating drone.
“What the hell is this place?” she muttered, hands drawn up before her to ward off the force of the air blowing against her.
“The abode of the storm god that once ruled the tower,” Venti answered grimly. “That now has been usurped by another ruler of the sky.”
“... I suppose I can see the consistency,” she murmured. Not that it helped her understand the nature of this domain any better. The magic of this world could truly be terrifying, at times.
A roar echoed through the veil of stormclouds.
Both tensed.
Once again, a pair of large, glowing eyes emerged from behind the veil of stormclouds. Rage — bitter and fiery — burned within them as Dvalin pushed through the storm, parting the darkened clouds like water.
Only this time… there was a flicker of fear in his gaze as well.
For one moment, they stared each other down, a dragon and two warriors frozen in time.
Then, the world burst into motion.
Lumine exploded into the air, speeding towards the dark dragon on godly currents as Venti unraveled into the wind. Her body sang with energy as she palmed her blade, Anemo surging within her. Within moments the stony platforms disappeared from view, and all she could hear was the rush of wind in her ears.
Dvalin screeched, unleashing a volley of corrupted blasts at her. Lumine twisted and turned, nimbly avoiding the attacks as she weaved in and out of the currents. There was no need for a glider now, not when her body was being directly carried by the wind itself. She swam through the air currents with movements more muscle memory than conscious thought, feeling the melodious winds wrapped around her responding fluidly with every pitch and roll.
She raised her sword with a defiant roar.
He twisted out of the way at the last moment, narrowly escaping the bullet of gold-tinged Anemo that was Lumine. The edge of her blade clipped his wing as she sped past, sending bits of scale and blood spraying into the wind.
Dvalin howled.
But of course, it was not enough.
She rolled out of her dive, only for the dragon to speed away. Warped currents of corrupted wind exploded around her, the force throwing her into a wild tumble and rattling through her skull.
If he thought that would be enough to take her out, then he was in for a nasty surprise.
She smirked when she felt the wind shift — warm, musical currents cushioning her fall and cupping her back, before flipping her upright and pointing her ahead.
She surged forward, a streak of gold and teal cutting through the storm.
The chase was on.
Where she once had been the hunted, pinned under the weight of his gaze and fury, now it was Dvalin who fled, his talons splitting the air like knives as he twisted himself away from his hunter. His movements through the air were erratic and laboured, his cursed empowerment and weeks of non-stop rage having taken its toll.
But he was far from weak. Each attempt to bring her blade close was met with failure as he peeled away — dark, tainted winds stirring at his call and letting him veer wide or dive into yet another layer of clouds. All the while, he attacked relentlessly, sending charged bombs towards Lumine that exploded with the force of a typhoon.
They did not deter her.
She did not slow. Fresh winds coiled at her back, eager and sharp, propelling her through the jagged currents he left in his wake. Once more she caught up, Anemo surging down the length of her sword, ready to strike.
Still, Dvalin proved to be faster.
He snapped his wings inwards, spiralling into a dive that had him plummeting out of sight. The speed of it left a near vacuum in his wake, flinging Lumine out of her trajectory and pulling her downward. She recovered quickly, only to hastily parry a blast that struck a little too close to home. The force of it rippled painfully through her body.
They clashed again, moments later. This time, Dvalin struck first, pulling sharply out of his dive to surge upwards, sending a ball of abyssal curses screaming straight at her. Before she could react, Lumine felt herself get shoved aside, the dark vortex of energy missing her by a hair's breadth. She grunted as she dove once more, bringing herself towards his flank, only to swear out loud as her blade met nothing but air.
They continued in a pattern: converging, clashing and parting — like two intersecting stars caught in each other’s orbits.
But each time they crossed, Dvalin pulled farther ahead. His escapes came swifter, his turns sharper; his body now cutting through the endless expanse of stormbound sky with an almost feral urgency.
He knew he could not allow her to touch him.
Lumine swore once more, this time in tongues even Venti no longer recognised.
“Slippery bastard,” she growled, flinging herself out of the way of another blast. “This bloody cat and mouse–” she dove downwards, “–cannot continue.”
She felt more than heard Venti hum next to her ear. “I can try something, but it might take away your mobility.” The winds shifted once again, tugging her upwards in a wide arc, far and away from another blast. “We’ll only have one chance to get you to pin him.”
Her eyes narrowed toward the source of his voice. “You’re not seriously suggesting–?”
“We have no choice. If we want to shoot a fish in a barrel, we must first freeze it in place.”
Then, with sadness, he added: “I’ll atone for it later.”
Grimly, she nodded. With the trap set, divine winds swept in, positioning her high, wide — and most importantly, open.
Dvalin — half-mad with pain and frenzied with fatigue — took the bait.
His eyes gleamed as he surged upwards, a fresh attack coiling in his maw, one final bid to snuff his attacker and end it all.
Venti whispered, palming the Gnosis in his unseen hands. “I'm sorry, my friend.”
And the sky tore open with a scream.
Before, he had to be extremely precise and careful — his people were in the vicinity and could have been caught in the blast.
But here?
In a place of unbound sky, there was no such limitation.
Divine tornadoes ripped through the sky, blowing Dvalin’s attack apart. Titanic fingers of storm shot forth — the Thousand Winds themselves piercing through the domain to answer their god’s call — slamming down on Dvalin like hammers. Within moments, the near-feral dragon was trapped within the wind god’s mighty hands.
Venti willed himself to not break, even as Dvalin screamed in his grip and the winds tore his wounds open. The pungent stench of iron bled into the air, fueled by a growing panic as holy typhoons shredded through scale and bone.
With a final shout, the last coil of divine wind on Lumine’s back detonated.
“GO!”
She tore downwards in a rocket propelled freefall, the air screaming past her as she roared, Anemo surging along the edge of her blade.
And just underneath, celestial gold burst defiantly in answer, splitting through the cracks of the ancient seal and igniting into a blaze.
Lumine struck the dragon’s head with the force of a comet.
Dvalin crumpled as the attack exploded through his body, the empowered blade tearing scale and hide and sending shockwaves through his bones. He plummeted onto the stone platforms with an almighty crash, his body limp and weakened as he sprawled across stone in a semi-lifeless daze. Even then, the gale force winds continued to pin him in place — they only had one chance, and neither was going to let up.
Lumine pivoted on her heel, righteous fury and frustration blazing in her as she drove her bare fist into the dark spike on his back.
And opened the dam once more.
As the discordant static and corrupted shadows flooded through her body, her mind was overcome with sights and sounds she knew were not her own.
He was surprised when he heard the gentle trill of music on the wind.
He had expected spiteful silence, or the clamour of fear. It was all he has received ever since he first opened his eyes, whenever his shadow inevitably cast itself over the lands.
Curious, he dipped beneath the clouds, pushing through their wispy layers to reveal an expanse of verdant green below.
A lone figure stood at the edge of a cliff, clad in shawls of deep viridian and rich white that drifted in the wind.
Around him, he felt it. The rising panic of humans in the pockets of villages scattered across the lands nearby, having spied his emergence from the skies.
Yet, the lone figure before him stood proud and unwavering, joy and mirth radiating from his minute frame.
He settled onto the earth. The cliffside groaned beneath him, his claws carving furrows into the stone.
“Ah, you're finally here!”
He blinked at the tiny figure. He certainly looked human enough.
“Oh, do you not speak?” The tiny human sounded again.
He tilted his head in confusion, unable to fully understand. He spoke through wind, gale and storm, and felt emotions as they carried in the air, not through this strange mix of sounds that were emerging from the tiny one’s throat.
“No worries!” The expression that bloomed on the human’s face was different from what he had seen. His eyes were bright and glittering, with lips drawn back to reveal teeth, yet there was no hostility or panic to be found. “I have the perfect tool for when words don’t reach!”
Intrigued, he pushed closer, bringing his eyes level with the little person’s head. The scent of flowers and fresh wind floated into his nostrils.
The human barely flinched when the tip of his jaw bumped into him.
(He would only be told later that this little bump could have sheared a person in two.)
“A curious little one, aren’t you? Then allow me to convey my thoughts in kind.”
Music filled the air once more, and this time the winds danced in answer — light and joyous, yet powerful and majestic — and he was struck with a flash of primal understanding.
Not human.
Not human at all.
He reared back slightly as the winds in him stirred, might recognising might.
Yet, instead of breaking, the music continued. Joy shifted to query and power turned to play, and soon the tiny but ancient god was ascending into the skies, sending a trail of playful winds back to curl around his scales.
Bright eyes turned to his, gleaming.
“Do you want to fly with me?”
He didn’t need to know human speech to understand that.
But he hesitated. Was this a trick of the wind? A song that would vanish the moment he joined?
But the wind did not push.
It waited, curling quietly under his wings — gentle and patient.
No other being had ever called to him so: warm, inviting, and without fear.
It felt… nice.
Drawing the winds into his being, he made his choice.
Wings flaring, he leapt into the parted skies.
The pair would spend many days and centuries after flowing through the air — unburdened, without restraint, and utterly free.
He supposed… that this was what joy felt like.
Lumine gasped as the memory broke like surf on stone.
The abyssal torrent continued to pour out, ugly shadows and shrieking static flooding her senses and shaking her bones. Venti’s vortices whirled like buzzsaws around her, their thunderous cadence making her ears ring. Under her fingers, Dvalin felt like a void — writhing, buzzing, all jagged points and serrated edges. But she held on, starbound gold in her core burning it all to cinders, blazing out of her form and tinging even her eyes with a flare of celestial light.
“Come on,” she growled, barely able to hear herself amid the tumult.
Then, she felt it.
A shift, the first threads of darkness unraveling. And underneath the haze of chaos and blood, she saw it.
Winds unrestrained, gales unbound, and storms swirling free within an endless sky.
She grit her teeth in a snarl, starlight inching forth against the torrent. There, stamped across the dragon’s being like an ugly seal, laid a gnarled, twisted root of darkness. Rage and madness bled out of it in waves, twisting what should have been a cool, balmy swirl of storm into a frenzy.
Golden starlight blazed in indignation.
It clawed towards the offending root, seizing the fraying threads of poisoned void.
With a final, guttural scream, Lumine wrenched them outwards with all her might.
At last, the frenzy within Dvalin finally stilled.
The shadowed spike shattered with an ear piercing crack, erupting like a fountain of ink, before finally burning away. The solid mass dissolved under a wave of gold to reveal her arm, whole and shaking, once more.
Screeching winds and shrieking static ceased immediately.
And all was plunged into the dull, rumbling silence of the stormy clouds around them.
Venti reappeared, breath heaving and eyes frantic. “Is it–?”
“It’s over,” Lumine whispered hoarsely, feeling utterly drained. “It’s gone.”
Dvalin stirred beneath her, his voice low and rumbling. Winds stuttered within him as the light returned to his gaze, the dark haze hanging over him nowhere to be found. He raised his head sluggishly, eyes blinking in dazed confusion as he struggled to focus.
Venti’s breath caught when draconic eyes fell on him.
“... Barbatos?”
His knees buckled.
“I’m here, my friend,” he choked out, fresh tears streaking down his face as he ran his hand along Dvalin’s neck. The sight of his scales glimmering anew made the tears pour out harder. “I’m here.”
“What… what have I…?”
“Hush,” he soothed, pressing his head into Dvalin’s side. He could feel him now — the familiar balm of stormy wind, steady and cool beneath his scales. The stench of ozone that clung to him was gone. His breath came cleaner, steadier, the winds around him no longer tinged with rot. “There is no such thing,” Venti’s voice trembled, “as a song so far gone that it can’t sing.”
“But the people…”
“We will earn back their trust and help them remember.” He clung tighter to Dvalin’s side. “Just like we did all that time ago.”
Dvalin hesitated, before finally sagging onto the stone. “... Thank you.” His breath rattled in his chest, slow and fragile.
A thundering crack echoed overhead.
With the Thousand Winds’ intrusion cracking through the domain, whatever bindings that had been holding it together were completely fractured. Now weakened, the domain was no longer to support the elements within.
And thus, as the world’s logic dictated, it had no other choice but to shatter under its own weight.
The platforms beneath them quaked, crumbling into fragments as the skies fell apart.
Lumine yelped as she tumbled, unable to find purchase as reality itself crumpled around her. The domain crumbled and folded on itself, compressing and splintering everything in its path.
“Lumine!”
She heard the distant cry of her name, but she could not answer. Her body felt limp, her spirit was spent, and her awareness was rapidly thinning. How was she going to escape this?
Frantic arms clamped around her, pulling her close.
It was the last thing she felt before the world faded to darkness.
Chapter 5: Checkpoint
Chapter Text
The first thing Lumine saw when she opened her eyes was an unfamiliar ceiling.
She shot out of the bed, her nerves lighting up with pain.
Someone yelped beside her ear. “Hey, easy!”
“Where–?” Gold eyes darted about as her heart thundered in her chest. What had happened? Where was she? Where was–
“We’re at headquarters Lumi,” the voice answered, jolting her out of her thoughts. Paimon. “It’s been five days.” The fairy’s eyes watered, “We… we thought you’d never wake up.”
Five whole days? Stars, then what–?!
“Dvalin rescued you guys,” Paimon muttered, holding her hands out in a calming wave. The room she was in smelled faintly of herbs and old wood, warm and still in a way that felt alien after so much storm and noise. Rays of orange light slanted across a pale stone wall — the sun must be setting. “I don’t fully get what happened in there,” Paimon went on, “but the tower somehow blew up not long after you guys went in.”
The blonde blinked. They had chased Dvalin for what felt like hours. How could it only have been such a short while?
“Don’t look at me, I don’t have a clue how domains work,” Paimon groused. “But after it blew up, Dvalin just appeared out of nowhere and flew straight into the sky. Nearly sent the entire brigade into a panic.”
Well that, at least, she could understand. A giant dragon suddenly appearing overhead would probably make her shit herself too.
Finally, she found her voice. “Then… how’d I end up here?” Good god, her throat hurt like hell.
“According to the Tone-Deaf Bard, Dvalin flew you back here.” That held her attention. “To be more precise, Dvalin flew you back to the outskirts, and the Tone-Deaf Bard carried you back to the city.”
Right, that made more sense.
And that also meant that it was truly over. They had succeeded. The thought alone made her heave a massive sigh of relief — one of many knots within her finally unwinding.
But if so…
Paimon huffed, her eyes narrowed in minor disapproval. “You just woke up and that’s who you’re thinking about?”
Heat flooded her cheeks. “I didn’t even say anything,” she coughed.
“It’s written all over your face.”
“Is not.”
“Is too!”
“I asked about where I was. Ergo, that wasn’t my first thought.”
“Egro-whatever, it’s the who , not the what !”
“You’re in dreamland.”
“And you’re in denial.”
She flicked a hand in dismissal, earning her a loud raspberry from the fairy. “Where’s Jean?” she asked.
“They just arrived back at the city two days ago. I mean, they didn’t have the convenience of flying back.”
“Then I’m going,” Lumine said, swinging her legs off the bed–
–only to be greeted by a face full of annoyed Paimon.
“Stay.” Little hands clamped down on her shoulders. “In.” A firm push. “Bed.” Her back hit the mattress with a wince.
The pulse of pain she felt was almost enough to make her wilt under the intensity of the fairy’s gaze.
Almost.
“... Okay, okay,” she relented, shifting to make herself more comfortable. She wouldn’t hear the end of it otherwise.
And, with how deep the ache in her was, it would be wiser to comply.
To her surprise, sleep took over rapidly.
When she woke next, daylight was filtering in through the window, bathing the stone walls in a cheery light.
Paimon drifted into view once again, her eyes focused and searching.
“... Can I leave now?” Lumine asked dryly.
Paimon huffed. “Well, good morning to you too. I slept well, thanks for asking.”
Then the scent of food wafted into her nose, and Lumine almost melted back into the bed. “... Thanks so much, Paimon.”
The fairy’s lips curled gently. “Of course.”
“... And if you see a missing half of toast on your plate, just pretend you didn’t.”
Lumine rolled her eyes as she rose out of bed, the deep ache in her body now faded to a dull sting. “Figures,” she chuckled.
She enjoyed her two-and-a-half slices of egg and toast in comfortable silence.
“Also,” Paimon added, floating closer, “if you try sneaking out, I will tie your face to the bed.”
“And how the hell is that even possible?” Lumine drawled.
Paimon did not back down. “Try me.”
Lumine huffed. “Threat noted.”
Paimon nodded once, smug. “Paimon takes patient compliance very seriously.”
Far above the clouds, where only the strongest of birds dared fly, a lone figure drifted on unseen currents, lost in quiet contemplation. The sky beneath his feet stretched wide, a near infinite canvas of white stained with the brightening golden hues of dawn. Venti floated in the spaces between the clouds, his fingers running idly along the strings of his lyre. The winds of Mondstadt curled gently under his back, holding him aloft like a comforting cradle.
Far below, the city glimmered with the signs of waking. The winds carried the sounds of windows creaking open, of voices greeting one another, of people walking through the cobbled streets once more.
Mondstadt was safe. Whole. Finding its footing once more.
The relief of his people had been easy to sense — a citywide exhale as Jean and her knights returned in triumph, the unraveling of an entire population’s worth of tension. The celebratory cry that followed when the Acting Grandmaster had announced that the danger was over could be heard as far as the edges of Wolvendom.
Of course, there were still tinges of confusion. The people had expected a riveting tale of righteous knights striking down an evil dragon, vanquishing the foul creature that had terrorised them. To hear that the dragon had been, in fact, a victim — a friend of their god and ancient protector who had been hurt and manipulated against his will — hadn’t sat well with several parts of the populace.
Which was fair. Dvalin’s madness wasn’t without consequence. For all, it was fear. For most, it was devastation. And for the unfortunate some, tragedy.
But, Venti surmised, such was the nature of life. While the city of song and romance had its legacies of bombastic tales and epics, the fact remained that cause and consequence, life and death were always going to be the lived reality for mortals. No amount of song or romantic spinning was going to change that.
But, after nearly months of scrambling and adrenaline, it was nice to at least be able to take a moment. Even gods needed breaks, sometimes.
His thoughts drifted to Lumine. The starlit warrior who had made this moment, drifting amidst the clouds, possible.
She would be waking soon, he hoped. He hadn’t really stayed long enough to check.
Not with the next major mess now rearing its head.
The foreign frigidity he felt all those weeks ago was growing steadily. He knew exactly what it meant.
While his Gnosis wasn’t a source of omniscience, being one with the wind had its perks.
Perks like being able to hear secrets whispered between ears, and catch conspiracies drifting between the threads of wind.
All heralding a coming change, the kind not even he could let drift by.
So, he held out his hand. The Gnosis appeared atop his palm in a hum.
It was cold, as always. A solid piece of sky caged in glass.
He hadn’t thought much of it, more than two millennia ago. Back then, it had seemed like a gift — a chance to make things right. A promise of peace for those who had fought so hard for their freedom. A means to give those warriors their well-earned rest.
But two thousand years was a lot of time to learn about the nuances of such authority.
“Why?” Dvalin asked simply.
With Lumine safely within the city walls and Jean properly briefed, they could finally take a breather. The pair drifted through the skies in aimless wonder, enjoying the renewed, if still fragile, connection between them.
Venti hummed, attentive, feeling the balmy currents glide between them.
“Why don’t you ask me to protect you like last time?” Dvalin asked again. “You and your golden partner would have been swallowed whole.” Giant, iridescent wings beat in rhythmic waves. “And now, you speak of plots and conspiracy, and a rising darkness on the horizon.”
“While I don’t wish for you to listen to the Abyss Order,” Venti began gently, “it doesn’t mean you must listen to me.”
He paused, taking in the sight of the dragon flying unrestrained before him. It was beautiful to behold.
“But it is crucial that you know. The age of gods might be coming to an end,” he sighed. “The winds are shifting, and only time will tell what these new songs will sing.”
Dvalin blinked slowly, watching the bard as he snaked through the skies.
“Then… what is your wish of me?”
Venti smiled, sending a playful gust towards the dragon. It bounced uselessly against his wings. “You are not beholden to me, my friend. My hope is for you. To fly free, to taste joy, and choose where your winds may lead.”
He huffed. “But freedom, if demanded of you by an Archon, is no freedom at all.”
“So no, Dvalin,” Venti chuckled, running his hands across his lyre. “I have no wish of you. The people will find their way.”
Dvalin flew in silence, contemplating his words.
Draconic eyes flicked to him. “The people need you.”
“The people have endured, even while you and I slept.” Venti dipped under a cloud, his cape fluttering in the breeze. “They have more than proven they do not need the gods to carry them forward.”
“Yet, if the age of gods truly is fading…” Dvalin rumbled. “Someone must still watch the skies. Not even they, for all that you believe of them, can truly take flight.”
He regarded the vishap with a playful wink. “Have you seen their gliders? Fascinating inventions. I just had to grant them my blessing,” Venti laughed. “As long as they have the desire to fly, it will always lead them to greater heights.”
“Perhaps,” Dvalin pondered. “But that day is not yet here.”
“Fair point,” the bard answered with a smile.
They continued to drift on breezy currents, two ancient beings suspended in the breath between storms.
Then, at last, Dvalin spoke once more. “Let it be me, then. To guard the skies… until the day they can claim it as their own.”
He turned to the dragon. He knew the weight of oaths, and the burden that came with promises freely given.
“Even if their wounds are still fresh?” he challenged gently. “Even if their memories may fade once more?”
“Even so,” Dvalin rumbled. There was conviction in his voice, an ancient weight to his words. “It shall be my atonement, and your legacy.”
“You brat,” Venti laughed, bright and hearty. “Didn’t I just say that you are beholden to no one?”
“This shall be my pact,” Dvalin answered simply. “And where my winds will be: a balm when needed, and a shelter when called.”
Venti smiled.
Shifting, he concentrated, bringing forth a sphere of purest Anemo — a spark of storm, gale and song — from his core.
They weren’t the keys, the shackles, handed to him by Celestia. He would never inflict that even upon his greatest enemy.
The spark shimmered in the wind, light but vast. It hung between them on unseen strings, the winds drifting by it in awe.
“Is this… the power of the Anemo Archon?” Dvalin asked, voice rumbling in wonder.
“Only if you accept it,” he answered gently.
“But… I am no longer part of the Four Winds.”
“Even so, you have still chosen to protect, regardless.” And for that, even if he said nothing of it now, he would be eternally grateful.
“So take it, and go forth with my blessing.”
And thus, the winds of Mondstadt found rest within another home — under the trusted wings of their new steward.
The memory faded like vapour, bringing him back to the present. Venti blinked, his gaze refocusing on the Gnosis floating above his hand. Thoughts of war, dark monsters, and mandated violence flashed through his mind.
He’d more than fulfilled his duty, he thought.
And now, at the cusp of a slow but new dawn, perhaps it would be better to hand the future to those who flew by choice, not by decree.
Perhaps, Venti mused, it was time to bow out and watch the next act begin.
His eyes flicked back towards the city below.
How to do so, with grace and room for his people’s peace to remain undisturbed, would be the question of the day.
Venti was missing.
It had been more than a week since the fateful confrontation with Dvalin, and at least three days since she’d been finally able to move around without a limp. While her recovery was met with wonderment by the church’s healers, the collective joy of the clergy at seeing the heroic Honorary Knight up and about once more hadn’t been quite enough to shift Lumine out of her strange mood.
She’d felt it, then, while she screamed towards the pinned Dvalin in righteous rage. That momentary but breathstealing return to form when celestial gold had broken through, the stars in her finally aligning and flooding her veins with a degree of strength and normalcy she hadn’t felt in months.
Yet now, once again, it was gone.
The seal within her must be some sort of organic thing. For when she first woke after witnessing reality falling away, she found that channel to starlight muted once again, the cracks in the seal having somehow mended while she was asleep.
Absently, she flexed her fingers, feeling the sluggish pull of aching tendons and overtaxed muscle with each movement. She could feel the ugly thing still pulsing within her, its hold over that channel that had once been muscle memory still present.
But…
If she could break through it once, it meant she could break through it again.
Nothing in the cosmos was so eternal that it could withstand repeated cycles of breaking and mending. Nothing in the millennia she’s spent alive has proven so.
She inhaled slowly. She’d simply have to be patient then. And perhaps, have a little more faith.
Which brought her back, inevitably, to her initial thought: Venti was missing.
She turned her eyes to the clear skies, and took in the sounds of laughter and movement drifting through the streets. The mood of the place had obviously lifted, and smiles were all around once more.
They’d just shared a massive victory. One that she had paused her steps for, and chosen against the odds. She’d even managed to soar through the skies once more, because of it.
And yet–
What am I even thinking?
Paimon had been there when she woke up. Watchful, protective, fussing over her like a mother hen.
And Lumine had felt safe. Grateful, even.
But the feeling that lingered in the days after — that odd, quiet weight in her chest — hadn’t gone away.
She hadn’t really been alone. So why had it felt like she had?
She walked briskly through the city streets, mindful of the awe-struck glances, raised eyebrows and startled squeaks she left in her wake.
She huffed quietly. So sue her if her steps this day weren’t as graceful as a supposed hero’s should be.
The people of Mondstadt were kind, no doubt, but she did sometimes wonder how tiring it must be to be perpetually surrounded by a culture of romanticism.
For a moment, she could understand the wind god’s choice to remain unknown.
Still, Jean had made good on her promise, and along the way to Headquarters Lumine could already spy the first of many missing person posters getting hung up. Posters asking for information about a missing blonde man with gold eyes and exotic clothes, of similar height and stature to Mondstadt’s Honorary Knight.
The thought alone was enough to lighten the weight in her chest by a hair.
Nonetheless, the next step in her journey was not going to happen without more information.
And a certain missing bard still owed her answers.
Lumine sighed as she knocked on the Acting Grandmaster’s office door. If anyone could give her an idea of where a finicky god could be, she could do far worse than first asking the last person who saw him. All she hoped was that this wouldn’t be another tedious, drawn-out affair.
She opened it to see Venti greeting her with a sunny, lopsided grin.
“Ah! You’re just in time!”
She considered asking Jean if proper cause could lower the legal threshold for blasphemy.
Especially since the cheeky bastard was still smiling at her.
Her hand shot out to stop Paimon, halting the fairy mid-flight on her path to righteous fury.
Annoyed as she was, she had no desire to learn the threshold for divine assault.
“Ah, Honorary Knight. I’m glad to see you’ve recovered,” Jean greeted smoothly. “And it’s good you’re here.” She gestured toward the side, where Kaeya was slouched elegantly over a desk. “We have much to discuss.”
Lumine shelved her irritation away as she listened. About the intel the knights had managed to gather behind the scenes, from those who had stayed behind to defend the city when they had moved on Starsnatch Cliff all those weeks ago.
“So, the Abyss Order’s leader is the one who wanted to make Dvalin a weapon of war?” Venti hummed, a hand on his chin. The window panes rattled slightly next to them.
“They call him the Prince,” Kaeya added with a mirthless huff. “Dramatic, isn’t it? You’d think he was plucked from a bedtime story.”
“But how did you manage to get this information?” Paimon asked. “It doesn’t sound like something the members of the Order would talk about casually. Much less while trying to sneak into the city.”
Kaeya chuckled darkly in answer. “Well, let’s just say that I got close to that bunch of infiltrators and employed my… linguistic abilities and wonderful powers of persuasion.”
Paimon opted to remain behind Lumine for the remainder of the talk.
“So now we know the Abyss Order is structured, deliberate, and has actively targeted Dvalin and us…” Jean muttered, mentally cataloging the information as she spoke. “Any ideas as to why?”
Kaeya raised both hands in a light shrug. “Your guess is as good as mine. The rest of our little chat didn’t go as smoothly.”
Jean sighed — long, familiar, resigned.
“What? They were trespassing with malicious intent,” Kaeya said, his expression the picture of professional innocence. “Surely as a Knight, I couldn’t just–”
“It’s fine,” Jean said as she rubbed her temples. “In any case,” she continued, turning back to Lumine, “that brings me to what I wished to discuss with you.”
“I understand that you will be leaving the city soon.”
Kaeya’s singular eye widened in mild surprise, but otherwise he remained silent.
“Yes,” Lumine answered. “I need to continue searching for my brother.”
“The title of Honorary Knight was granted primarily to give you executive agency during this emergency.” Jean began. “But it is not legally binding.”
Lumine nodded.
To her surprise, Jean dipped her head in a formal bow. “That said, if you do come across any further information about the Abyss Order during your travels, we would be grateful if you could send word back to us.”
The blonde immediately raised her hands. “Of course I will.”
“Then know that Mondstadt owes you a debt of gratitude,” Jean said solemnly, “and that we are deeply thankful for your service.”
“No matter how far your search takes you, know that you will always be welcome here.”
“That means a lot, Jean,” Lumine smiled warmly. “Thank you.”
“Ah, but don’t be a stranger,” Kaeya winked as he turned towards the door. “Do remember to come visit us from time to time.”
Paimon shot back, finally daring to float beyond the protective boundaries of Lumine’s shoulders. “Only if you stop being so scary!”
Kaeya’s laughter echoed down the hallway as he left.
Jean turned back to them, expression carefully neutral. “Before you go, the Church has requested the return of the Holy Lyre. I’ve tried to delay them, but they’re pressing for it now.”
Lumine stopped cold.
“Shit.”
Jean’s brow furrowed. “...You do still have it, right?”
“Of course, of course!” Venti answered breezily, his voice entirely too cheerful. “We’ll have it back where it belongs before you know it!”
Lumine glanced at him sideways. “Please tell me you’ve fixed it.”
The bard tilted his head, still grinning. “Oh. Was that my job?”
Paimon made a strangled noise. “We can’t just give it back broken! It’s a holy relic! You really think you can walk in and say, ‘Sorry, try glue’?!”
Jean pinched the bridge of her nose. “It would be... highly inconvenient if we were forced to explain its condition.”
She didn’t even want to imagine the investigations that would trigger.
Lumine turned to Jean. “What if we just blamed it on the Fatui?”
“Officially, we recovered it from unknown parties,” Jean muttered, voice tight. “Unofficially… I don’t think the Church is going to accept ‘exploded under mysterious circumstances’ as an explanation.”
“Not to worry!” Venti declared with a raised finger. “I have an elegant solution.”
“You’re going to lie,” Lumine muttered.
“I’m going to perform,” he corrected, twirling on his heel in a dramatic half-spin. “And you, lucky you, are getting front row seats to a divine miracle.”
Lumine stood frozen.
Now might be a really good time to ask Jean if accessory to divine fraud carried jail time.
Paimon beat her to it. “You’ll be there, right?” she asked, drifting towards the Acting Grandmaster with fear in her eyes. “Just in case they try to… arrest us?”
Jean let out the sigh of a woman rethinking her life choices. “I’ll come.”
The deaconess stared at the freshly returned Holy Lyre with reverent awe. It gleamed in the morning light of the Cathedral; flawless, untouched, and whole.
Only two people — three, if you counted Paimon — knew it was a lie, stitched together by illusion just minutes ago.
Jean wisely made sure she wasn’t officially counted among the witnesses.
She was already mentally drafting three reports: one for the Church, one for the Knights, and one for the newly christened drawer beneath her desk labeled “Archon-Related Nonsense.”
“Thank you so much for retrieving the Holy Lyre,” Barbara said, dipping into a low, formal bow. “We were getting worried that some unsavoury parties had damaged it. With all the chaos recently… it’s a relief to see something intact.”
Lumine’s brow twitched.
“Not to worry, good sister,” Venti replied, all smooth charm and bardic poise. “The Knights have done excellent work. I’ll be sure to immortalise this heroic return in song.”
“Thank you, sir bard!” Barbara beamed. “May your songs be pleasing to Lord Barbatos!”
“I’ll do my best to impress him!”
Jean suppressed a groan.
Barbara turned to her. “Though… there won’t be any more, um, requests to borrow the Lyre, right?” She hugged it protectively to her chest. “Not to be superstitious or anything, but…”
“No, Barbara,” Jean said, already tired. “There won’t be any more requests.”
Not ever, if she could help it.
“And on that note,” Venti said brightly, leaning towards Lumine, “we should probably leave.”
“Run?” Lumine muttered.
“Run,” Venti confirmed. “Very fast.”
Jean pinched the bridge of her nose. “Just go.”
They only stopped running after they had slipped deep into the maze-like alleyways along the southern wall, far and away from the Cathedral’s doors.
"That," Lumine heaved as she slumped to the ground next to a brick wall, "was probably one of the stupidest things I've ever done."
"Truly?" Venti chuckled breathlessly. "Then I'm glad to have the honour."
"A dubious honour if I've ever heard one," Paimon groused. "I'm pooped."
"Hey you’ve been flying, why are you so tired?" Lumine jabbed.
"Flying takes effort too!"
Venti laughed, full and hearty, the bell-like sound of his mirth bouncing down the walls of the alley. It was the freest he’d felt in months. “You know,” he chuckled, “not that I don’t appreciate an audience, but you didn’t really need to follow through all the way.”
She raised a distinctly unimpressed brow. “And let you try to swindle a fake-restored relic back into the Church all by yourself?”
“Swindle?” Venti gasped in mock horror. “I did no such thing!”
“Then the last ten minutes must’ve been my imagination.”
“Or,” he said with a smirk, “a very good illusion.”
Lumine huffed, sinking on to the ground and feeling the burn in her legs. The effects of a week of bed rest had yet to fully fade, it seemed. Her eyes flicked up to his — to the glimmer of a smile framed beneath ebony hair, haloed by morning light.
He looked so… free. As if the events of the last few weeks hadn’t left a dent.
“Is it always like this for you?” she asked, her voice a shade quieter.
He blinked. “What do you mean?"
“Making everything into a performance,” she murmured, curling into her legs despite herself. “A show for an audience.”
The mirth slipped from his expression. “Depends on the audience, actually,” he answered slowly. “And… I guess we’ve already stepped backstage.”
“Uh, I think I’ll go make sure nobody’s followed us.” Paimon cut in, drifting down the alleyway. “You two… take it easy, okay?”
He watched the fairy disappear around the corner, feeling the last threads of his performer’s ease slipping away with her. The alley turned quiet, save for the low rustle of the breeze between them.
He took in a slow breath and lowered himself next to Lumine.
“So…” he began uncertainly. “Are you still mad at me?”
She didn’t quite meet his eyes. “I’m not mad.”
“No?” He hummed, not quite daring to slide into teasing. “I thought I was about to be pummeled back at Jean’s office.”
“That was Paimon,” she huffed, though her heart wasn’t into it. “Divine assault wasn't on the cards for me today.”
“I see,” Venti mused, but said nothing more.
The wind moved gently through the silence that followed.
“... Alright, I was a little mad,” she muttered quietly, her eyes fixed on the cobblestones before her. The city hummed behind her, barely audible.
She curled into herself a little further. “You weren’t there when I woke up.”
He’d known it was coming, but the disappointment still cut far deeper than he was ready for.
His shoulders sagged.
“I’m sorry.” It seemed like apologies were all that he was capable of providing these days.
“So… why?”
“It wasn’t to avoid you,” he said softly, yet still feeling like he was admitting to a crime. “But I had… certain matters to attend to in the aftermath.”
She tensed. “Is Dvalin alright?”
“More than fine, but thank you for asking.” He smiled, warm and gentle. “Just… tying up loose ends, so to speak.”
Her shoulders eased slightly. But something tugged at her, a quiet unease she couldn’t quite name.
It wasn’t as if she thought she had the right to know everything. She knew better than to pry. Minding her own business was supposed to be a virtue.
So why was she feeling like this?
“It’s not that I don’t want to tell you,” he breathed, breaking her reverie. The words dragged against his ribs, scraping the boundaries between heart and mind. “But there are some things that are better left unknown,” he said, then more quietly: “You have enough on your plate as is.”
Lumine’s fingers tightened against her knees.
He was right.
Her brother. Her faded strength. Her fractured memories.
And yet, the words didn’t soothe the ache they were meant to.
Venti glanced at her sidelong, holding the silence between them like a brittle breath. He could feel the uncertainty radiating off her, and it twisted something deep within him. Like the last several times he’s seen it on her — that ache, that grief — he wanted to chase it all away.
It didn’t belong on someone like her. Someone so fair and noble. Who had proven equal parts loyal and stalwart.
Yet the feeling, heavy and immovable, had lingered on his shoulders since the first night he saw her grief spill under moonlight.
It wasn’t his right. It wasn’t his place.
And with all the divine entanglements between them — it most certainly wasn’t wise.
So he sat by her, his back leaning on cold, rough stone.
Unsure. Unmoving.
And he hated himself for it.
Had millennia of lying truly made him incapable? Or had the habit simply hardened, calcifying his heart and tongue?
He opened his mouth, grasping for something to say–
–only to freeze as a thread of unnatural cold spread through the air.
“At last, Mondstadt’s rodent ruler in the flesh.” A menacing voice drifted towards them, frigid and caustic. “Scurrying through the streets and alleyways… how fitting.”
Venti froze. This was too early. They weren’t supposed to–
She stepped from the shadows — tall, pale, more than a head taller than either of them. The white of her dress glittered dangerously in the morning light, framed by twin shawls the colour of blood.
“Surprised?” she asked coolly. “Even the wind can play tricks on a god, it seems.”
Lumine leapt to her feet. Wind surged to her fingertips — sharp, reflexive, ready.
The sight that greeted her next made her stomach drop.
“Now I don’t think that’s wise,” the lady tutted as she waved a dismissive hand. There, next to her, a Fatui agent held up a block of ice.
And inside it, Paimon.
Her face was frozen in a mask of terror.
Lips curled into a mocking grin. “It would be a shame if something happened to your little friend here.”
Lumine forced herself to lower her hand. “Don’t underestimate me,” she growled.
Icy eyes glinted. “Au contraire, it is you who shouldn’t underestimate me.”
She did not have time to react.
She was thrown into the wall in a blast of glacial winds. Ice entombed her limbs in an instant, pinning her against the stone. Rapidly, warmth drained from her body, and the freezing shackles burned the surface of her skin.
Lumine strained against the solid mass, only to freeze as two blades angled towards her throat.
“I warned you,” the lady glowered. The Fatui agents flanked her, their blades glinting just above Lumine’s skin.
“Leave her be.”
Venti’s voice cracked like thunder as he blurred in front of her, a rush of wind at his back. “Your quarrel is with me.”
But the ice was faster; a biting, glacial surge howling toward him, slamming into his legs and freezing him to the stony ground.
He grit his teeth as icy fire burned him.
Time to go off-script then.
“So even useless rats can imitate valor.” The lady sauntered up to him, grabbing his face forcefully to scrutinize him. Jagged nails dug painfully into his jaw. “Still, Mondstadt calls this a god?”
He glared back. “Resident rodent… beats invasive vermin–”
The world spun as his head was whipped to the side with a loud crack. Pain bloomed white-hot across his cheek, rattling through his skull.
“Don’t you dare…” she growled, “talk back to me, insolent bard.” Fire — bitter, furious, alien — blazed beneath her gaze.
For one lone moment, he could feel the gaping loss burning within, the Crimson Witch of Flames bleeding through.
And in a blink, it was encased in ice once more.
He felt the winds surge behind him; not his, but hers. Angry, urgent, desperate.
He couldn’t allow it.
Quickly, he gathered them around him. He heard Lumine gasp as the winds were torn out of her grasp. Bright, turbulent currents swirled around his feet.
The lady’s gaze sharpened.
Good.
He sent one quick sliver behind him, praying it would soothe the flash of shock he felt.
Please, he willed the winds to say. Trust me.
His heart skipped in relief when her winds died down in answer.
Back to the show.
He flailed his body against the shackles of ice, keeping his motions tight and stuttered. The alien cold burned — painfully real and shockingly strong — but he fed that into the currents, stirring the winds into a carefully balanced dance of power and panic.
He suppressed a pained smirk when she regarded him with a distinctly unimpressed air.
“Absentee Archon of Mondstadt,” she drawled, the corner of her lips curled into a cruel smile, “how impotent you’ve become.”
And… the coup de grace.
“That smirk you wear looks out of place,” he jutted his chin in defiance. Ice continued to bite into him. “Did you steal it from your master’s face?”
Her eyes twitched. For a split second, her fury slipped past the frost–
And he was shoved backwards by a violent blast.
She hissed in his ear. “Should’ve held your tongue.”
And all he knew next was pain.
He slammed into the stone, the impact tearing the air out of his lungs. He laid in a crumpled heap unmoving, his awareness a sea of agony as his limbs refused to answer.
This, unfortunately, needed no performance from him.
The sounds of voices slurred overhead. “We have the Gnosis.” He heard dimly. “Leave nothing for them to find,” came the command; cold, distant, and final.
Then... silence.
The moment hung in the air, brittle and unnatural.
And with it, the ice began to thaw.
Hairline cracks webbed across the frost pinning her limbs.
The moment the pressure gave way-
Lumine broke free in a burst of gold-edged wind.
“Venti!”
“Hey,” he croaked, the word catching painfully in his throat. “You… and Paimon… okay?”
She was already at his side, panic etched across her face.
“What happened? What–”
“Later,” he croaked, wincing. Good gods, everything hurt. “Just… get me to Windrise.”
“No, we need a healer. Barbara–”
“Her Vision won’t… have any effect.”
She hesitated.
“Windrise,” he whispered again. “Please.”
Quickly, she gathered him and a wobbly Paimon into her arms.
And ran.
Faster than she’d ever have before.
She charged out of the gates, ignoring the startled cries of alarm behind her.
The road to Windrise lay open — whether thanks to Dvalin’s calm or sheer luck, she didn’t know. She didn’t care. There was no time.
The roots of the great tree came into view just as the first true gust of wind rolled in from the east. It brushed past Lumine’s cheek like a whisper; gentle, familiar, guiding.
She didn’t stop running until they were beneath its wide branches, the dappled morning light breaking through the canopy in soft gold patches.
Only then did she drop to her knees, lowering Venti to the mossy earth with care.
Paimon flopped down beside them, arms shaking and breath coming in weakened gasps. “Okay… new rule… no more flying headfirst into Fatui ambushes…”
Lumine barely heard her. Her focus was fixed on the bard — or what was left of him in this state. His breathing was shallow, his skin pale beneath the smears of frostbite and bruising. The winds around him had dulled, thinner now, like threadbare silk.
“Venti,” she whispered.
His eyes fluttered open. “Told you,” he rasped. “Windrise has good air…”
“That’s not funny,” she said, voice trembling despite herself.
“Not trying to be.” He managed a ghost of a smile. “Not this time.”
A silence fell between them. The kind that always seemed to settle beneath this tree.
She waited.
When his eyes slid shut with a single, rattling breath, it felt as if the world had shifted on its axis.
An eternity passed before he opened them again.
“I’m… I’m a little better now.”
Lumine sank back, completely spent. Paimon lay between them, fear and adrenaline having given way to full exhaustion. Lumine slowly gathered the fairy into her lap, letting the shallow rise and fall of her breaths anchor her racing heart.
Venti dragged himself upright, the motion sending waves of pain through him. The lady — Signora, he recalled, hearing her name whispered on the winds — had not been gentle.
He would have given the Gnosis freely, honestly. But she had a score to settle, and her little cabal had already proven that political shit-stirring, sabotage, and provocations weren’t beneath them.
Who knew what further havoc they would have wreaked to bait him out more, to try and make him hand over something they thought he would guard with his life.
Or worse, what they might do, if it was ever known that he was willing to trade their precious badge of godhood away to traitors. His own life might only be the first of many prices he would need to pay.
He wasn’t going to let them touch his people. Not after what they’ve done to those that once made the grievous error of disagreeing with their world order. To an entire nation, for the sins of a few.
So he was left with little recourse but to allow Signora to sink her claws directly into him. To let her rend and tear through the visage of his dearest friend with no mercy.
How poetic, for his final official stand as Mondstadt’s god to be one of weakness, not strength.
Though, he supposed, as he winced in pain — it was entirely on brand anyway.
He sighed and leaned back against the oak, willing Windrise’s ancient breezes to work their magic just a little faster.
Lumine sat next to him, her hands hovering just above his shoulders. Paimon lay in a tired, shaking heap beside her, her eyes shut in exhaustion. The silence held, threaded with the rustle of leaves above and the low, steady hum of the wind.
“Why didn’t you fight back?” she breathed, finally able to find her voice. “Back there, you–”
“-could have done more?” Venti offered, a shadow of a smile curling weakly at his lips. “I know.”
“Then… why?”
Why didn’t you let me protect you?
“I needed her to believe she had me,” he continued quietly. “To believe she had won, that her trap had worked.”
Betrayal flashed under her eyes. “You knew–?”
“I knew they were sniffing around. I had plans to spring their trap right in their faces.” He sighed, low and tired. “But they used the wind against me, and shoved me into the spotlight far earlier than I expected. I had to improvise.”
She blinked as she put the pieces together. “Is that why you were in Jean’s office earlier?”
“Yeah. Can’t exactly let a planned divine assault happen without informing the proper authorities, you know?” He managed a soft, weakened chuckle. “It’s just my luck that it didn’t pan out. But I spared Jean the major details.”
She looked away as her voice trembled. “... just like what you’re about to do now?”
His eyes darted to her.
She did not meet him.
“I…” he started slowly, prying each word out of his mouth. Each syllable felt like he was balancing on a knife’s edge. “It would not be a kindness. Not the kind you deserve.”
“Isn’t that for me to decide?”
The words were soft… and hurt all the more for it.
Venti’s gaze dropped to his hands, still trembling faintly in his lap.
On one hand, he couldn’t. This was bigger than her, and himself. There were some things that just were not meant for others to know.
The truths of the world. The twisted systems that governed their lives. The layers of lies, tragedies, and corpses, buried by each passing era. He and the greater system he belonged to were a tangled nexus of secrets — many of which weren’t even his to tell.
Brushing against them wouldn’t just put a target on his back. It would paint one on her.
And on all the innocents around them.
And yet…
He took in the brokenness in her expression, the flash of betrayal in her eyes. That haunting ache and loneliness that stirred underneath it all.
It wedged into his chest far deeper than Signora’s claws had.
He drew in a shaking breath.
And made his choice.
Truly, he was a fool among gods.
“There are things I can say…” he muttered. “And things I cannot.”
Lumine didn’t answer, but she turned to him. Just slightly. Enough to see.
He took that as permission.
“The Gnosis… is an internal focus that lets us resonate with Celestia. With it, the Archons are granted authority over their domain.”
He leaned back further, feeling an outer tension pressing on his chest. The beginnings of divine suppression setting in. “It’s not like a Vision. Those are external magical foci granted to those with the potential for godhood. They borrow and channel the elements according to the user’s wills. With a Gnosis, we do not borrow. We command. We become. We are. We anchor a pillar of this world.”
She nodded, turning to him a little more.
He held on.
“And as to why the Tsaritsa sent her lackeys to take the Gnosis from me… I have an idea. But that ties into past events I have been… bound to not speak of.”
The next words came with great effort – the weight of millennia of divine shackles now really pushing against him. “The only thing I can say…” he stuttered, voice strained, careful to thread around the metaphysical block that lingered in his system, “is that it happened five hundred years ago, and fractured the Seven in more ways than I can say. Peoples perished, gods died, and the world was never the same.”
He stopped talking, and the unseen shackles snapped away with a shocking amount of force.
For a beat, he only breathed.
Then, warmth. Fingers pressed into his arms, grounding him before he even realized he was trembling.
“I’m okay,” he said, voice a little frayed at the edges. “Just… needed to finish the verse.” Gold eyes were on him now, wide and dimmed with worry.
“I understand now,” Lumine murmured. “... I’m sorry.”
He slid his hands over hers, patting them gently. “I will never blame you. Not for this. You didn’t know, even if you deserved to.”
She stayed silent for a moment. Then, in a voice barely above a breath: “Does knowledge… truly have such a heavy price in this world?”
“More than you know,” he muttered. “But… with your journey, you might end up having to ask them anyway.”
She tensed. “You mean...?”
“I do not know which god took your brother,” he answered at last, his voice heavy with weight and shoulders sagging in shame. “And I do not know where he might be.”
He wasn’t even sure it was one of the Seven anymore – not with that seal, his possibly tampered memories, or her likely presence during the fall five hundred years ago.
For the first time in a long while, he wondered if he should just bite the bullet and reach beyond the page. To listen to those threads of ancient memories — born from past and future — once again, and parse through their melodies with a closer eye. Or hell, maybe even ask around, and hope the Hexenzirkel would lift their heads from poking at Irminsul long enough to entertain a question or two.
But that was a thought for another day. He turned his attention back to Lumine.
“If your memories are accurate…” He met her eyes. “Then your search might bring you to the very edges of this world’s truths.”
Lumine shuddered.
It wasn’t as if she didn’t know, not really. The seal's ugly presence had whispered this possibility from the beginning.
But hearing it spoken aloud and laid bare like that?
Something within her gave way.
She didn’t notice she had moved until she was pressed into his side, warmth seeping through the fabric of her dress and into her skin.
“Hey,” he murmured beside her ear. “You will be okay.”
“Where…” her voice trembled as she sank into the touch. “Where can I even begin..?”
“You’ve already begun, haven’t you?” he said softly. “I saw the posters all around the city.”
He gave a gentle rock, the motion meant more to reassure than sway. “And I’m certain Amber is hard at work, keeping her promise to you.”
Lumine said nothing. She leaned further into his embrace, and warm tears soaked through the fabric of his shirt.
He pulled her closer.
“In Liyue,” he began gently, “lives the God of Contracts.”
He let the words settle before continuing. “He watches over his nation closely – and his memories, his knowledge, run far deeper than mine. If anyone is in a position to help… it would be him. Though, you’d best be prepared.” A wry breath escaped him. “He can be a bit of an old blockhead. Stubborn, obstinate. But I swear on my winds that he is an honourable spirit.”
“Do you think he…”
“I cannot be sure,” he sighed, the sadness sitting low in his chest. Morax was righteous, yes — but compassion wasn’t always his first impulse. And as the oldest and strongest of Celestia’s servants… there was a chance, however slim, that he might have been made their jailor too.
“But he is not cruel.” That at least, he was certain of. “He won’t meet you with wrath. Nor pride.”
She remained in his arms, quiet and trembling. Only when the last of her shivers ebbed did her voice return; small and raw.
“Okay,” she breathed. “Okay.”
But she did not pull away.
“Will I be able to find him?” she murmured.
At that, Venti let out a real huff of amusement, the sound gentle and warm against the worst of the ache in her chest. “That will be the least of your worries. He keeps close watch over his city, and once a year, descends in person to answer his people’s questions.”
A wet chuckle slipped out. “So basically, your opposite in every way.”
“Very proudly so, if you ask him.”
She cracked a smile, shifting in his hold to look up at him.
“Then… when is this descending happening?”
“In another few weeks actually, so you’re in luck.” He offered a cheeky smile. “You can afford to take the scenic route to the city. The place has some of the most breathtaking mountain sights to offer.”
“I guess I can pen that into my schedule,’ she nudged him, wiping her tears from her cheeks.
He smiled at her, fully this time, but something in his gaze flickered with hesitation.
Slowly, he reached out, his fingertips brushing the edge of the crystals on her dress — gentle, but hesitant.
“Can I?” he asked, the question barely above a whisper.
She shifted closer to him, careful not to jostle the still sleeping Paimon.
“I won’t be able to follow you to Liyue,” he said sadly, his smile faltering. “Not with the Fatui and Abyss Order still lurking around. I may no longer have the Gnosis, but the people of Mondstadt are still my children.”
She nodded quietly, her gaze muted but understanding.
“But if you want…”
He could feel his heart pounding with each word.
“I can offer you this.”
A tiny spark of teal, light and trembling, flared to life at his fingertips. “It’ll strengthen your winds amidst a land of earth and stone, and be a mark to the Lord of Geo that you are not a threat.”
Then, after a shaky breath:
“Think of it as… a little piece of me.”
He swallowed thickly. “Something to remind you that you won’t be alone, no matter what you find there.”
She looked at him, her eyes wide.
Barbatos, God of Wind and bringer of flight, has never feared any heights.
But in this muted moment, where even the flow of time seemed to still; he felt, perhaps, for the first time what it was like to teeter on the edge of a precipice.
He wondered what would happen to him, if he were to fall over.
He felt warm fingers curling around his wrist. The little spark flickered at her touch.
Tugging gently, she pulled his hand towards her, brushing the tips of his knuckles across her dress. The spark fluttered, before sinking into her body with the gentlest of ripples.
He didn’t dare pull away.
Gold eyes held his. “It would have been nice if you could come along.”
The sound of her words — wistful, soft, and yearning — made his throat tighten and mouth run dry.
“Yeah,” he answered breathlessly. The wind breezed by, ruffling her locks gently in answer.
“But while you search Liyue…” he murmured, his voice drifting into her ear like a whispered promise. “I’ll search Mondstadt. I’ll speak with the winds, the trees, the spirits in the stones. If your brother’s trail lingers anywhere here, I'll find it.”
She felt something stutter in her chest at his gaze. “Thank you.”
Then, with a flicker of his old mischief, he added:
“Though I might want to make one final, selfish request, if you’d allow me.”
She tilted her head.
“That you promise to come visit,” he replied sheepishly. “Because the next time you return, I’ll have something for you.”
Warmth bloomed under his skin as he said his next words. “A song. A serenade for your homeland, that will be yours alone.”
Her breath hitched, before she nodded mutely in answer.
The promise lingered in the hush between them, threaded into the rustling branches and the wind’s gentle hum. They sat below the tree for hours, savouring the sweet swirl of healing winds between them.
When morning broke anew, Lumine woke to the sight of a pile of apples and a green cape draped over her shoulders.
The grateful smile that bloomed on her lips was enough to make Venti feel lighter than he’s ever been since he woke up.
He accompanied her to the very edge of Mondstadt’s border, where the forests and rolling hills of green gave way to towering rock faces and sheer cliffs.
“Well, this is as far as I can go,” he said to them, his steps pausing along the dirt path. “As they say — may the wind lead.”
Paimon twirled around his shoulders. “Wow, so formal of you,” she teased. “Don’t miss us too much, Tone-Deaf Bard.”
He gave Paimon a sunny smile and breezy laugh. “Of course, of course. Who knows, by the time you guys come around, I might even be able to hold a tune.”
Paimon scoffed, but otherwise waved him off. “I’ll go on ahead for a while, see what’s around us.”
Lumine raised a brow. “What happened to that new rule? No flying headfirst into ambushes?”
“I’ll fly upwards towards the open, totally-clear-of-Fatui sky!” Paimon huffed. Then, drawing close to her ear, the fairy whispered. “And don’t act so tough. You’d like some privacy, don’t you?”
The blonde groaned quietly into her palm. “When are you ever going to let that go?”
She received the most smug, yet unimpressed smirk she’d ever seen on the fairy. “Once you finally admit that you’re denser than a Geo Slime.”
Lumine swiped at her, only to meet air as Paimon twirled out of her reach in a mild cackle.
Venti hummed as he watched Paimon drift upwards into the open sky. “Is this her… what did you call it? Helping?”
“Unfortunately,” Lumine grumbled.
That earned the blonde a slightly subdued, but still cheeky laugh. “Well… then maybe I should extend my gratitude.”
Heat crept up her neck. “You really don’t want to know what she thinks she’s helping with.”
She did her best not to read too much into the glimmer in his eyes.
His laughter eventually faded. And then it was just the two of them, standing at the edge of one world and the next.
“You’ll be okay,” he breathed. The wind ruffled her hair softly.
“I hope so,” she murmured.
He stepped closer, cradling her hand in his. She blinked when he pressed a small pouch into her palm.
“What’s this?”
“Dandelion seeds.” He kept his hand under hers as he spoke, savouring the weight of it in his palm. “It’s… a traditional means of prayer in Mondstadt,” he explained softly. His fingers trailed against her skin. “Just take a small handful, whisper your words into them, and scatter them into the breeze.”
“It might take a while for the winds to carry your words, especially these days,” he chuckled nervously, feeling the hollow in him where the Gnosis used to be. “But they will get there.”
“So… if you ever need a listening ear…” he hesitated, before pressing on.
Teal eyes met hers, steady despite the nerves in his voice. ‘I’ll be here,’ he breathed.
He felt his chest stutter when she curled her fingers around the pouch. “Then I’ll take good care of it,” she answered softly.
He smiled, soft and lopsided. “That’s all I could ask for.”
The wind stirred between them once more, tousling her hair and tugging gently at his cape. He stepped back.
“Well then,” he said, tipping his hat in a slow, theatrical bow, “may the wind guide your steps.”
She rolled her eyes faintly, but didn’t hide her smile. “Try not to get arrested while I’m gone.”
“No promises,” he quipped, laughter dancing at the edge of his voice.
With a final wave, they parted – Lumine turning toward the road ahead, her steps a little lighter and heart a little more full.
And he stayed, watching until the last flicker of gold disappeared around the bend.
Chapter 6: Stonewalled
Chapter Text
The first thing she noted was the spectacle of it all.
For her, Mondstadt — while by no means small — always had a quaint, inviting air to its lands. Save for its stormy coasts and the eerie beauty that surrounded Old Mondstadt, the land of wind managed to radiate a warm, yet relaxing aura that made one feel like kicking up their feet to watch the clouds roll by.
But here? Massive rock formations loomed in the background of expansive marshes, and even the city itself was a bustling, towering monument amidst an unyielding landscape. The streets were an explosion of colour; packed, noisy and ever-shifting. People scurried about at a seemingly breakneck pace, filling the air with the endless sounds of footsteps and chatter.
The place was also steeped in rituals and culture, and it wasn’t hard to see what Venti had meant when he said the Lord of Geo watched over his nation closely. His influence was practically everywhere, from the way they invoked his name in greetings to the mora that passed between hands.
It was all rather jarring, honestly.
But Lumine was a woman on a mission, so she wasn’t about to let a bit of whiplash slow her down.
What she didn’t expect was to be swept, backside-up, into yet another crisis.
Lumine swore in every language she knew.
She tore her way down the streets, Anemo coiling at her back as she weaved in and out of the waves of guards that were, infuriatingly, targeting her. For a crime she definitely didn’t commit.
This was utterly unfair. She had only fought one dragon; she certainly hadn’t murdered one. Much less one in Liyue, just days after arriving in the damn place!
Were the people of Teyvat all gods in disguise or something? What else could justify them believing someone who’d only just entered their gates to be capable of slaying a god?
“Why won’t they listen to us?!” Paimon screeched, zipping past another angry guard.
She threw up a hasty wall of Geo behind her as she rounded the bend. “Hell if I know!”
A voice called overhead. “Over here, girlie!”
She wasted no time blasting a gust beneath her feet, throwing herself up several flights of stairs and into the open doors where the voice came from.
She had barely begun to catch her breath when the world decided to shit on her plate once more.
“You’re a Harbinger?!” Paimon erupted.
“I’m not a bad guy!” Their ginger saviour pleaded. Though, she noted wryly, ‘saviour’ was probably giving him entirely too much credit.
At least he caught himself.
“Okay, I sort of am, but I’m not a fan of Signora either! And I know a setup when I see one. So could you please not shove your sword down my throat and let us talk like civilised people?”
Lumine rolled her eyes skyward, and cursed.
The weeks passed in relative silence.
Not that Mondstadt was ever a quiet place; the streets were always filled with songs and the sounds of merriment, especially in the wake of Dvalin’s freedom. Yet as time went on, even the flow of wine and sounds of singing began to feel a little hollow.
Venti told himself he shouldn’t be surprised. She had a journey before her, a goal to pursue. And yet, even knowing that, the silence still sat heavy in his chest.
She hadn’t scattered the seeds.
Not once.
A part of him liked to imagine that maybe she simply hadn’t needed to. That perhaps things in Liyue had gone smoothly, that her days were filled with warmth and laughter and better company than a liar bard with too many secrets and too few promises kept.
But the longer the silence stretched, the more that hope began to sour into doubt.
Maybe he’d given her too little, too late.
He’d felt it when she left. The flicker of something unspoken, something fragile. And though he had pressed the pouch into her hand and tried, in his own faltering way, to offer what comfort he could, he knew it could not have been enough. Not when weighed against what he had withheld. What he still withholds, even now.
On days like this, even the reality of divine shackles and mandated silence felt like an excuse.
He laid back on the branches of the great oak, his eyes watching the clouds drift aimlessly by.
He had work to do, and a promise to keep.
But right now, all he wanted was to slump over the branch in silence.
He huffed wryly. How different was he now to the many, many poor souls he's seen heartbroken during Windblume Festivals, when their heartfelt messages failed to reach the ones they longed to reach the most?
Venti was many things — flighty, fickle, flippant — but the one thing he most proudly wasn’t was dense. Being so was likely the very antithesis of being a god of wind and flight, and that dubious honour was reserved solely for a certain old blockhead the next nation over.
So no. He wasn’t about to insult himself, or her, by pretending he didn’t understand the shape of the ache in his chest or the silence that had started to sting. Maudlin as it was, he knew what this looked like. And he knew enough not to lie to himself about it.
Lie to your enemies, but never to yourself.
He sighed.
Then, he felt it.
Not the winds of danger, not exactly. But something in the current pulled tight, sharp with human shock.
Voices began to scatter across the breeze, urgent and rising:
“Rex Lapis — dead!”
“A murder during the Rite of Descension!”
“Foreign interference suspected!”
His heart dropped into his stomach.
The clouds split. Thunder cracked. And he was gone.
Venti surged into the skies in a rush of gale and panic.
It couldn’t be. Morax , the strongest of them all. The last of the original Seven. The only one left .
And Lumine–
He slammed up to the border of Liyue in record time. A cyclone whirled at his heels as he strained to hold himself back, barely, knowing full well that crashing through like a hurricane would only piss off the Adepti, and put innocents in harm’s way.
But he couldn't. Not now. Not when–
The wind — urgent, turbulent, desperate — smashed into a wall of solid, unmoving Geo.
Venti reeled midair, breath catching, eyes rising.
There–
At the cliff’s edge, tall and regal, stood a man clad in layered robes, as immovable as the mountain beneath him.
Stone met storm.
And Venti nearly fell out of the sky.
“You brutish, blundering, blithering, thrice-damned old blockhead!”
Furious gusts crashed uselessly against the man, their roar shaking the canyon walls beneath like a thunderous tirade. Venti didn’t dare unleash anything stronger, not unless he wanted another mountain range dropped on his head.
The man merely raised a perfectly sculpted brow. “And to what do I owe this pleasure, Barbatos?”
“Pleasure?! ” Venti nearly screeched in his face. “I thought you were dead!”
“Ah,” came the calm reply. “So the news has already reached Mondstadt, I presume?”
Venti swore. Loudly. Profusely. Possibly in five ancient dialects.
Morax, damn him to every possible heaven and hell, remained perfectly unbothered.
“Disgraceful.” He observed mildly. “This is you sober for once?”
“Screw you! ”
The winds growled low around them, as if echoing the bard’s offense, before stilling just as quickly.
“I had intended to tell you, truly,” the Lord of Geo said, tilting his head in what passed — by his standards, at least — for a sincere apology. It was only two thousand years of shared history that let Venti parse the minute shifts in his rock-hewn features. “But things have been… complicated as of late. And I needed the story to hold.”
“Complicated?! What’s next, you’re going to tell me you’re broke and forgot to pack your bloody wallet?!”
He blinked, surprised. “As a matter of fact, I did forget it while perusing the market this morning.”
“YOU ARE. LITERALLY. THE GOD. OF MORA.”
“But I am also Zhongli. A humble consultant at the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor.”
With his ornate robes, luxurious hair, sculpted cheekbones, and enough decorative trim to bankrupt the finest of Liyue’s tailors, “humble” was doing some monumentally heavy lifting. Venti didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
Nonetheless, the winds around him finally began to settle, unraveling from the knot of panic that had hurled him across nations. He touched down lightly on the mountaintop, robes fluttering around him in the breeze.
His next words were dry enough to rival Sumeru’s deserts.
“So, what’s so complicated that a dead god has to get groceries while being dead broke in the middle of the new year?”
He fixed Zhongli with a glare that could’ve wilted an entire harvest.
“I am preparing for the Rite of Parting. As you know, Rex Lapis is dead.”
Venti really, really wanted to punch him.
He also liked not having his limbs embedded in a cliffside.
“And why, pray tell, is he dead? Tripped over a divine tax form? Buried alive under his own mora? Fell off a cliff so hard he needed to shop for his own funeral?!”
At that, the unmoving pillar of ancient stone seemed to soften almost imperceptibly. “Because the age of humanity is at a new dawn,” Zhongli said, “and even the earth must put down its burdens.”
That finally gave Venti pause.
“... you too?” he asked, shoulders drooping.
“It is merely the natural consequence of time,” Zhongli answered. “You, of all beings, should understand this.”
Mild panic crept into Venti’s next words. “But… you’re okay, right?”
He didn’t know what to do if the answer was ‘no’.
Not when it was Morax.
“I am, for the most part. The cracks of time have not yet deepened to the point of no return, far from it,” Zhongli hummed, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “Consider my demise… forward planning.”
Venti let out a long, gusty sigh, the wind rattling across the plains below.
“That’s… you don’t know how good it is to hear that.”
The Lord of Geo finally turned to him. “Your concern is… appreciated.”
The bard snorted. “Six thousand years and you still don’t know how to say ‘thank you’?”
“Only because it’s the first time I’ve seen you sober in all my six thousand years.”
“That’s a lie and you know it,” Venti jabbed; his snark betrayed by the breezy, unguarded smile tugging at his lips.
He flopped down with a huff, legs dangling over the cliff’s edge. Zhongli remained where he stood — silent, unmoving, as if the earth itself had simply grown limbs and decided to observe.
“Still,” Venti scoffed, “your forward planning needs serious work. Your retirement plan has turned into a murder plot. Quite the dumb twist for a tale this grand, don’t you think?”
That earned a rare, exasperated sigh from the God of Contracts. “That was not my intention. The outlander merely found herself in the wrong place at the wrong time. In any case, she’s been resourceful enough to seek the Adepti, who have since cleared her name.”
He paused. Amber eyes turned toward him, ancient and unblinking. “Although… I do recall her bearing a peculiar spark.”
That voice — steady, measured, and far too perceptive — sent a bead of sweat trailing down Venti’s back. “That was my forward planning, you buffoon,” he groused. “So you wouldn't brush her aside with your… Morax-ness, when she found you.”
“So she is looking for me.”
“Yes, if the rocks between your ears haven’t robbed you of your hearing.”
“I suppose that explains why she’s working with that Harbinger.”
“She’s what ?!”
“Peace, Barbatos.” Zhongli raised a hand as though placating an overeager mortal. “The Harbinger has done her no harm, aside from perhaps testing her patience.”
Venti didn’t know what to feel. On one hand, it finally made sense why she hadn’t reached out — even he would be hard-pressed to make time for casual chats while being accused of divine murder.
But the fact that a Harbinger was nearby? Entangling her in whatever infernal plot the Fatui were scheming here?
Yeah, that part was very not great.
Zhongli, as ever, seemed to sense his mood. “Everything is under control, Barbatos. I will not let it go too far.”
Teal eyes narrowed. “So the Fatui gallivanting across Liyue is part of your retirement plan too?”
“Of a sort.” Zhongli turned his eyes back to the expanse of stone and cloud. “The enemy of my enemy is my friend, after all.”
Venti stared at him in silence.
“All I ask,” Zhongli added, “is that you do not interfere, no matter what the winds carry. This plan shall be my contract to end all contracts.”
The winds picked up naturally once more, and for a moment Venti could feel the small, hollow space where the Gnosis used to be. Silently, he lamented the mantle of divinity on their shoulders.
“…Fine,” he said.
Zhongli nodded, a silent thanks. “Then let us seal this contract in stone.”
“Are you serious?” Venti huffed. “Still haven’t heard of verbal agreement? Or is my word suddenly not good enough?”
The man arched a single brow.
Venti sighed. “Alright, alright, you inflexible moron…”
Agreement made, the amber glow of Geo shone around them, before scattering into the winds in a shower of golden sparks.
“But you keep her safe, you hear me?” Venti said as he stepped back from the consultant. “And be honest with her. Once the dust settles.”
“You ask the unnecessary for the former and the nigh impossible for the latter. She seems strong enough to survive, and you know as well as I that I uphold my contracts.”
For once, Venti shot back with a genuinely challenging glare.
Zhongli regarded him then, gaze as steady and heavy as the mountains themselves, even as a harsh wind stirred against the canyon walls, loosing dirt and debris into the valleys below.
To Venti’s surprise, the man backed down.
“Very well. I will offer her what truth I can, where it is permitted.”
Alright, perhaps only by an inch. But for Morax, it may as well have been a tectonic shift.
“Thank you,” he breathed.
He froze as the man’s next words came. “Is there a reason you’re so… attached to this one?”
“That, you dense meteorite,” Venti said, voice clipped, “is none of your business.”
Zhongli crossed his arms. “So ‘none of my business’ enough for you to make demands in her name?”
“Sue me then.”
“Yanfei is an excellent lawyer.”
He took off in a gust of wind, the currents kicking up a cloud of dirt into the consultant’s face. Zhongli narrowed his eyes, irritation finally flickering beneath his otherwise glacial calm.
Venti threw his words over his shoulders. “This conversation is over–”
His eyes widened.
“Put that down you petty maniac–!”
The boulders went flying.
Once again, Lumine doesn’t quite know what to make of her days.
In a truly dizzying blur, she’d gone from being an unjustly wanted murderer, to unwitting errand boy for a funeral she increasingly suspected was a complete farce.
So much for that stupid murder charge.
And now standing on the edge of the Jade Chamber as it hurtled through storm-wracked skies, she sighed, adding begrudging saviour to her growing list of wonderful accolades.
What was this world and its penchant for trauma conga lines?
If her brother were here, he’d call this place a dozen disasters in a pretty trenchcoat – a bureaucratic nightmare in cosplay. Then he’d laugh his ass off at her expense and tell her to keep her chin up; because clearly, all this was just an exercise for her ‘lacking character’ and chronic want of wisdom.
She’d absolutely punch the shit-eating grin off his face.
An ear splitting roar sounded in the distance. Titanic serpents of Hydro rose from the depths, their bodies coiling amidst hurricane winds, radiating a palpable aura of hatred and fury. Torrential rain pelted them like a hail of frigid needles.
Beneath them, the ocean slammed into the harbour, sending civilians running in panic. Already, she could see the first buildings crumbling under the merciless waves.
Lumine surveyed the vortex ahead grimly. All this terror and destruction, just to force Rex Lapis to show his damn face during a rite he was meant to attend anyway.
And even now as Osial loomed, its multiple watery maws aimed at the city — causing screams to reach her even at this distance — the bloody God of Geo still had not appeared .
She gripped her sword tightly. What could possibly justify this inaction?
Her mind drifted to the pack of dandelion seeds, still unopened. Guilt pricked at her chest. There hadn’t been enough time, but even now that felt like a poor excuse.
Everything in Liyue had felt so... transactional. The damn ginger had saved her and kept her out of jail, only to use her as an extra pair of hands for his nefarious plot. Then came the blockheaded consultant’s tedious shopping trip and a blasted string of fetch quests just to reach the Exuvia. And when even that turned out to be a red herring, now she had to face yet another draconic disaster just to inch closer to the truth. Every step forward felt like a debt unpaid. A favour owed. And maybe that’s all she was now — even on the eve of battle: an obligation, disguised as a companion.
Her shoulders sagged.
At least in Mondstadt, their requests had been more sincere . Direct, not laced in political-speak and veiled priorities.
And with Venti... at least there had been genuine warmth. Even if the truth had come fragmented and tangled in limits he couldn't name. Not deception dressed in a fake funeral and a divided city.
Tainted winds whipped past her hair; a sharp, bitter reminder of the chaos brewing ahead.
A flicker. Then–
“You.” Xiao appeared in a flash, eyes alert and gaze assessing. “What are you doing here?”
“Helping,” Lumine answered simply.
“You didn’t need to,” he said. “This is Liyue’s problem to bear.”
“Well, Liyue went ahead and made itself my problem, didn't it?” Lumine huffed, though there was no true heat behind her words. “So I’m staying. Besides–” her eyes narrowed at the massive beast churning the seas. “–I’m a little pissed off right now, and could do with some stress relief.”
Xiao blinked, but otherwise did not argue. Behind him, Ganyu and Madame Ping approached with quiet purpose.
“To think that a foreign child would be so noble,” the elder Adeptus intoned with a small smile. “It’s only fair that we lend you our strength.”
Ganyu nodded. “Osial’s aura is dangerous. Let me shield you. My Qilin blood will hold.”
Xiao stepped forward last. “His attacks will be swift. So take my power, and run as I do.”
She turned to them. “Are you sure?”
Xiao extended his hand. A swirl of light shimmered at his fingertips, the three threads of adeptal energy converging to thrum with age-old force.
“You bear his spark,” Xiao murmured. “He stayed my fall, once. And I’m sure he would wish you lifted, were he here. So I offer this, with their blessing; in his honour.”
Her throat tightened. She hadn’t lifted a single seed.
But even now, somehow, the winds had found her.
She nodded, her hand closing over his. Adeptal energy flowed into her, cool yet foreign, swiftly taking root within. Immediately her vision sharpened, and strength flooded her veins.
Something within her, deep and golden, stirred.
Celestial light cracked through the seal in a brilliant flash, raw and aching and alive. It filled her with an all-too-familiar surge, waking every muted nerve in her body with starlight.
Osial roared, closer this time. Xiao dropped into a battle stance. “Get ready.”
She turned to stare the evil god down, her body lighter than ever and limbs brimming with strength.
Ningguang barked behind her. “Fire!”
Lumine leapt into the fray, to the roar of the Qilin and adeptal winds girding her back.
There were many things Venti regretted in his long life.
When he was nothing more than a wisp of wind, he regretted his inability to do more than watch humans suffer in a bitter land of ice and frost.
When he had gained the faith of a band of humans, he regretted his lack of reach to give them more than a humble shelter amidst their exile.
When he aided his comrades to slay their tyrant, he regretted his powerlessness that left him unable to protect his dearest friend.
When he had risen to godhood to preside over the land, he regretted the mandate that forced him to enact unrighteous judgment in heaven’s name.
And when he had fallen to slumber to stave off the worst of time’s erosions, he regretted the price the waking ones paid to persist in his absence.
Two thousand six hundred years was a long time to accumulate regrets, and not even the wind was spared from the burden of disappointments.
But right now, as he stood at the edge of Mondstadt, he felt the weight of his regrets more strongly than ever.
One didn’t need to be a god to feel that evil presence permeating the air. Or to sense the unnatural storm that was brewing in the distance. Even the animals had fled from the borders, instinct driving them to seek shelter from the darkness that swept through the mountains and echoed through the valleys. An ancient, bitter anger that hated every inch of this landscape and what it stood for.
“What have you done, Morax?” he whispered, fear gripping his chest. The winds were heavy with the clamour of fright and stench of panic, and it was bone-chilling to know that right in the middle of that ugly storm was Lumine. The noble starborn traveler nursing an ancient wound and a fractured heart.
And all he could do was stand still — the winds leashed at his heels — even if every note of his being screamed to fly to her.
But he had made a contract, and there was no escaping the Wrath of the Rock if he violated his promise.
So Venti stood silently at the borders between nations, hands tight around a lyre he could not play, and a bow he could not use. He cursed all he could: his cowardice, the maddening callousness of his oldest peer, and the fate that had twisted this entire situation into being.
The echo from the bank doors slamming shut hadn’t quite faded, but already the silence that followed felt louder than the vortex that she’d just climbed her way out of.
Lumine stood still, her eyes still fixed on the space where the Geo Gnosis — glowing and mighty — once floated, now empty and silent. Signora had left in a flurry of cloth and frost, the frigid smugness in her smile lingering long after she had vanished from sight. It had taken all of Lumine’s self-control to not lunge at the woman sword-first. Honour be damned, she wanted nothing more than to plunge her blade into her back. Zhongli — or rather, Rex Lapis himself — had not moved to stop the woman. He stood in the center of the empty bank in quiet stillness. Serene. Calm.
And somehow, that felt like a slap across the face.
She turned to him.
“So… this was all just a test?”
Zhongli folded his hands neatly behind his back, his expression utterly unreadable. Behind him, the rattled skyline of Liyue bled through broken windows.
“Yes.”
The word landed like a gut punch.
“Why?” she asked, barely managing to keep her voice together. “For what?”
“To ensure that this nation was ready to stand on its own,” he replied, his words steady. “Because it was the only way to see if the past and present protectors of this land could work to ensure a future.”
He turned to survey the shattered skyline. “And they have succeeded.”
“Your people are scarred and your harbour lies in pieces,” Lumine retorted. “For all that you claim that the Fatui were merely players on this board, they went too far. You can’t ignore the possibility that your test–” her fingers curled into a tight fist, “–had a price.”
At that, the man’s expression turned somber.
“I will not deny what you say,” Zhongli murmured.
“Then say it,” Lumine snapped. She felt a fearful tug on her scarf, a white-faced Paimon urging her to step back. But she refused. “You knew that people might die. And you thought it was worth it anyway."
He lowered his gaze. “I trusted Liyue to endure,” he said. “And I placed that trust in the hands of the Qixing and Adepti, and in you. But… yes. I knew there could be a cost.”
Her eyes burned. “And you let it happen anyway?”
“I do not rejoice in it.” Zhongli’s voice was low. Steady. Almost unbearably calm. “But this nation has been cradled by a god’s hand for nearly six millennia. To sever that bond gently was never going to be possible.”
He turned to her. “If I had stood before them and declared the end, they would not have listened. Not truly. Not until they had to.”
Lumine could barely hear him past the rushing in her ears. “So that’s it?” she whispered. “You made them bleed for understanding?”
“Would you prefer the alternative?” he asked, amber glowing beneath his heavy gaze. “To let them decay under the illusion of eternal guidance? To be sold a lie of seasons unending?”
“I’d prefer a choice,” she bit out.
Zhongli closed his eyes. “So would I.”
The regret in his reply hung heavily in the air between them.
“But time waits for neither mortal nor god. Enduring as we are, not even we can escape its flow.”
His voice darkened. “And the catastrophe that would befall them all once the earth finally cracked… would be infinitely greater than anything today.”
She looked at him. The god who stood among this world’s eldest. The one the nation revered as a universal constant. She could not deny the ancient burden on his shoulders, the kind of stillness that came not from peace, but from time. Even without knowing the full story, she could feel it: the long shadow of millennia, of horrors and tragedies folded into every word, of scars and cracks carved into every silence.
The adepti had spoken of all Rex Lapis had done for Liyue during its storied history. And even if she hadn’t seen those deeds for herself, the results were hard to refute. A land this orderly, this enduring; it could not have come from passivity or an uncaring hand.
But even so…
Even so… there had to be limits.
“So that’s what it comes down to for the gods?” she asked. “Ruthless calculus?”
“According to the laws of this world… yes,” he said quietly.
That gave her pause.
“And this ruthless calculus…” she said slowly, “…forged a contract worth both its weight in blood and a Gnosis.”
“Yes,” Zhongli answered.
Her voice dropped, softer now, but no less cutting. “That’s cruel.”
“No,” Zhongli said. “It is mercy.”
He met her challenging gaze with one of his own. “You have not yet seen what becomes of gods that linger too long. What happens when erosion, the price of time, sets in. When power loses rationality. When memory itself becomes poison.”
Shadows flickered beneath amber. “When divine vessels collapse under their own weight, they do not pass quietly. They shatter. And the damage is never theirs alone to bear.”
A pause. A breath. The wind rattled faintly against the battered walls.
“There are worse ways to lose a god,” he concluded, “than a farewell sealed by battle.”
She stared at him, unsure if the chill down her spine came from his words or from the lingering fear still hanging over the city.
“I gave them a clear parting,” he continued, quietly. “While I still had the will and presence of mind to choose how.”
He paused, the silence deafening within the empty room.
“To sever myself from a people that relied on me for six millennia, to test their mettle as a new age beckoned… I concede that it is not kind, or even close to ideal. But it was the only mercy I could still give.”
He turned back to the window, where the sky still shone across a fractured skyline.
“If you wish to understand cruelty…” Zhongli’s voice lowered, like a rumble beneath the earth, “then look to the storm beyond the sea. There, you will find a ruler who does not test her people, but strips them. Not a fracture, but an erasure. The Vision Hunt Decree of Inazuma is no trial. It is execution.”
Lumine’s breath caught.
“I do not expect you to accept my reasons,” he continued. “Nor do I expect you to understand. Not as an outlander.”
Her shoulders tensed. But he raised one hand, calm and measured.
“Peace. Your nature gives me no cause for quarrel.”
She eased herself out of her defensive stance. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised you knew,” she muttered.
“It is in our nature to notice those who stand apart,” Zhongli said. His gaze sharpened, distant, yet discerning. “More so if they bear the wind god’s mark.”
“Then you must also know why I came,” she said, voice low.
He inclined his head. “You seek your kin.”
“And I seek the truth behind his abduction.” Her throat tightened. “Do you know where he is?”
The question was not accusatory, not yet. But it hung heavy in the air, thickening the tension between them.
She hoped this wouldn’t end with her needing to raise her blade.
Zhongli pondered quietly.
“I do not,” he answered at last. “Your brother’s path lies far beyond my reach. And if he walks this land… he does so behind veils I cannot pierce.”
She stared at him, unblinking. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”
Zhongli did not falter. “You do not.”
The words made her chest twist. She braced herself for elegant evasions and clever phrasing, the kind of speech that always slid just past meaning.
But then he said, quietly:
“All I can offer is the sincerity of my word, and the weight of my record. What I say, I will seal in contract, if that is what you require.”
Her eyes narrowed. “A contract?”
“I may no longer rule Liyue,” he said, “but my word remains as solid as stone.”
Then, in the quiet that followed, Zhongli, the former Archon and oldest among the Seven, placed a closed fist over his chest and bowed his head.
“If I am lying to you about your brother,” he said solemnly, and the air around him glowed with the faint tinge of amber. Something heavy settled in the space between them, the words sounding solid and as immovable as stone. “Then may I too suffer the Wrath of the Rock.”
She said nothing for a long moment.
But something inside her, raw and bitter, eased, just enough to let the next breath come.
“Very well,” she capitulated, the words tasting like ash. “I’ll believe you.”
For one long moment, she said nothing.
Then, at last:
“One more question.”
“You may ask,” he rumbled.
“What could possibly be a good trade for the Gnosis? Is it not one of your anchors for reality?”
His gaze sharpened. “I presume you gained that understanding from Barbatos?”
“He offered,” she countered. “To his detriment.”
Zhongli sighed, the sound weary and ancient. But he did not push.
“Realistically,” he began, “there is nothing that can come close to a Gnosis.”
Paimon bristled, finally daring to speak. “Then why agree to it? Why hand over something so important to Signora of all people?”
“I am the God of Contracts,” he continued, gaze steady. “And in all my years, I have never entered into a contract without purpose. If there was no value in the exchange… I would not have agreed.”
He paused, then turned fully toward Lumine.
“My agreement with the Cryo Archon is the last I made as Rex Lapis. The contract to end all contracts.”
Her fingers curled slightly at her sides. “And what was the bargaining chip?” she asked, voice low. “What could possibly balance that scale?”
Zhongli’s answer came without hesitation, but not without weight.
“That, traveler… is something you must uncover yourself.”
"Even this much… I offer only in honour of the wind’s mark you carry.” He turned away, his tone softening slightly even in its finality. “And the one who asked it of me."
The words lingered long after she stepped back into the fractured light of Liyue.
The streets were quieter than they should have been. Not silent — for Liyue was never silent, not even in the wake of near disaster — but dimmed, as if the city itself had paused to catch its breath.
Lumine walked slowly, each step weighed down by the words she couldn’t unhear. She didn’t know where her feet were taking her until she found herself at the edge of a nearby hill. The battered city stretched far behind her, the horizon rippling faintly with lingering traces of faded storm. The sun had long since begun its descent, casting a dim glow of orange across the gradually darkening sky.
She sat on the grass.
For a long time, she did nothing at all.
Then, at last, she pulled out a small, weathered pouch.
The dandelion seeds were still there. Still untouched.
The winds weren’t strong here, even if it wasn’t completely absent. Just a soft breath brushing over the broken stones and drifting embers. Not like Mondstadt.
She poured the seeds out, watching them spill on to her open palm.
There had never been time. Not with the Millelith nipping at her heels. Not when she’d been climbing entire mountains just to hear the Adepti squabble. Not when Zhongli had nearly talked her ear off. Or when she’d been trapped in another endless debate with the Qixing. And certainly not when she’d been clashing blades with the damn Harbinger or Osial himself.
Or perhaps… she had simply been avoiding it.
She couldn’t quite say why.
It hardly made sense. Venti had offered, and it wasn’t like she disliked the bard.
But now… after everything Zhongli had said, she found herself needing something. Anything.
A voice that didn’t sound like it was buried by the weight of the world.
A face that didn’t shutter at her questions.
Someone who had looked her in the eye and tried.
Lumine closed her eyes and whispered into the dusk.
“I don’t even know what I want to say,” she murmured, voice catching. “I don’t even know where to begin.”
“I met your… colleague, I guess,” she said, eyes on the little mound of seeds in her palm. They rolled gently, weightless. “I thought he died at first. Got blamed for it too. Turns out he faked it all.”
“Then he roped me into planning his funeral. I spent weeks climbing mountains and crossing valleys to find everything he wanted for it. He kept saying each component had its meaning. To be honest, I can’t remember half of what he told me. He…” she chuckled weakly, the sound hollow even to her, “he’s too long-winded.”
“Then that damn ginger tried to get sneaky and steal the Gnosis. I smacked him around for a bit, only for him to go full asshole mode and summon Osial just to get Rex Lapis’ attention. Apparently no one told him Morax was in on the whole thing. Serves him right, honestly.”
She paused. Her hands trembled faintly, fingers closing around the seeds.
“Then…” A shiver raced down her spine. “Then… Morax says it was all necessary. The wrecked harbour. Destroyed buildings. Dead people.”
She swallowed thickly, tasting bile. “All this insanity… he calls it mercy. And crueler things lay ahead still.”
Her fingers clenched tighter. Some seeds spilled over the edges of her hand.
“And even at the end of it all… he can’t help with my brother either.”
“Tell me, Venti…” Her voice cracked. A single tear slipped down her cheek. “What should I do…?”
The seeds fell out of her palm, catching the weak drafts and drifting shortly over the edge of the hill.
Lumine curled into herself, silent tears trailing down her face. The last of daylight had faded, and all that witnessed her shuddering frame was the quiet dots of stars amid a darkened sky.
She felt Paimon wrap her arms around her waist. Quiet, but firm.
Neither spoke for a long while.
Then, a new breeze stirred.
Nothing strong. Just a whisper at first, curling around Lumine like a breath against her skin. Soft. Cool. Different from the winds here, and familiar in a way that made her chest ache.
The seeds she'd dropped caught the current, lifting again in slow spirals. They danced above the hilltop, spinning higher, higher, until they shimmered faintly against the dimming sky. Not fast. Not rushed. As if the wind wanted her to see them. To feel the message carried with them.
One seed hovered. Just for a moment. It brushed against her cheek before the wind took it, bringing a trail of tears along with it as it flew.
And the faint scent of apples drifted towards her.
There were no words. But the silence felt different now.
Not as empty anymore.
She still felt spent. Her limbs were exhausted, and she was going to feel the miserable effects of her battle tomorrow. But her lips still tugged upward, just slightly.
Lumine and Paimon spent the night on the hilltop, holding the silence beneath the stars.
Chapter 7: Truth and Reckoning
Notes:
For reference, I'm running with the headcanon that Aether and Lumine are the names they are using in Teyvat, but 空 and 荧 are their true names in their native tongue. This is entirely for reading and stylistic purposes, as I found it annoying to only refer to Lumine as "the Traveler" while writing. Lore states that Aether and Lumine are their true names in english, but it would be extremely confusing to incorporate that in writing.
For additional reference, 空 can be read as kōng as in "wrong" with a k, and 荧 is read as yíng.
Lastly, this confrontation is written with the 5.7 lore update in mind. No outright spoilers, but it will influence how certain lines of dialogue will be read.
Chapter Text
True to Liyue's spirit, they got back on their feet almost immediately.
The dead were retrieved and buried. There weren't many, miraculously, and most were Millelith who had braved the terror of Osial’s presence to rescue hapless civilians. The ever faithful consultant of the Wangheng Funeral Parlour stood at its doors, receiving each fallen soldier with stoic dignity as they arrived. He offered no grand eulogies or imperious speeches. Only precise, perfect rites; each one flawlessly rendered, providing a solemn sendoff and remembrance for each name that passed his lips. There was no pomp, only the discipline and quiet devotion of a person that understood the cost of loyalty — and what it meant to pay it in full.
Along the harbour, restoration efforts were well underway. Rubble was cleared. Scaffolds rose. Whatever remained standing was quickly converted to shelters or stands to begin moving cargo and goods once more.
The bustling city mourned its god, no doubt. Many still exchanged greetings in Rex Lapis’ name, only to falter mid-sentence. But the triumph over Osial, by their own hands, had lit something fierce within them. The nation moved quickly and purposefully, as though defiant in their grief. After all, trade paused for no one, and neither time nor money waited for any man – thus it was only fitting that the city of commerce pushed itself onwards to find their bearing once more.
They might have lost their god, but they hadn't lost themselves.
And thus, it was only proper to carry on, if not for him, then at least for the legacy he left behind.
Lumine watched the entire affair with a detached sort of interest. She lent her hand where she could; frayed as she was, she wasn't going to allow herself to stop being a decent person. The innocents deserved that much, at least. But otherwise, she kept to herself – giving the funeral parlour a wide berth where she could.
Just a few days more, she told herself. She'll stock up on whatever supplies she could get — at least the ginger had been useful for something — and no, she wasn't about to feel any scruples about using the absurd amount of mora he left behind. Then she'd screw her head back on straight, and press on.
The celestial tether hummed softly within her. Still weak, still smothered under by that ugly seal, but present.
He was still alive.
That had to count for something.
She was just in the middle of getting her blade sharpened when a voice called out to her.
She turned to find none other than Katheryne waving her over.
“What's going on?” Paimon asked.
They were greeted by a cheery smile. The Guild receptionist seemed chipper as always. “You're the Honorary Knight of Mondstadt, aren't you?”
Lumine blinked. “Yes? But why is Liyue's branch asking about that?”
“The Mondstadt branch sent a message. There's an independent adventurer who's been asking around for you.”
She raised a brow. “Who?”
“Unfortunately we didn't get a name. But they noted that he was a tall man with blonde hair… and wore something that looked like an eyepatch.”
Paimon narrowed her eyes. “As if that doesn't sound shady enough…” She leaned over to Lumine. “This isn't another Fatui trap, you think?” she whispered.
“If they wanted to trap us, Childe and Signora would have done so already.” Lumine said, frowning. “Still… I don't like this.”
Paimon turned back “Is this person still looking for us?”
“It’s possible,” Katheryne said. “Last we heard, he seems to have already left Mondstadt for Liyue.”
“And how long ago was that?”
Katheryne tilted her head. “More than a week ago.”
Great, Lumine thought grimly.
“My apologies,” Katheryne said, bowing her head. “Communication with the rest of the branches has just only been restored…”
“That's okay.” Paimon gave the receptionist a reassuring wave. “We appreciate the heads up!”
Lumine spent the rest of the day with her blade within easy reach and Paimon close to her side, the pair staying close to the busier parts of the city.
Thus, when a gruff, unfamiliar voice sounded from behind her later that night — she silently congratulated herself for not jumping out of her skin.
“I would ask if you were the Honorary Knight from Mondstadt,” the blonde man drawled. “But it seems like you're already expecting me.”
Lumine narrowed her eyes at him. Tall and clad entirely in dark clothes along with a distinctive mask covering half his face; the man was about as suspicious as one could get. Behind him, the warm glow of Liyue’s lanterns cast long shadows along the alley walls, cutting sharp lines across his silhouette as he stepped from the darkness into the quiet, sleeping street.
“Word gets around, you could say,” she intoned carefully.
“Then I suppose we can dispense with the pleasantries,” he shrugged. “I’m no adventurer. I came alone. And I have no intention of harming you.” He raised his hands, empty and open. An unspoken olive branch.
She kept her eyes trained on him. “Unfortuntely, one hardly needs weapons to cause damage.”
She would know; her cutting gusts and walls of jagged stone had managed to tear into the ginger Harbinger, even when he went all-out. And now, with nothing but shuttered stalls and sleeping windows at her back and him half-wreathed in shadow at the alley’s mouth; there wasn’t much he could say to change her stance.
“If that’s true,” she continued, tone clipped, “then get to the point: who are you, and why are you looking for me?”
“My name is Dainsleif,” he answered. “And while I have business here in Liyue, I was looking for you… to ask you three questions.”
“You crossed an entire nation to ask three questions?” Paimon blurted, voice incredulous. “You do realise that makes you even more suspicious right?”
Dainsleif scoffed. “Frankly, I don’t care how you view me. All I ask is that you answer three questions of mine, and I'll leave you be.”
Lumine twitched. “And if I answer wrongly?” Her fingers flexed restlessly against her palms.
The man didn’t posture himself like a threat, but anyone who traveled solo didn’t need to. That sort of quiet confidence was its own warning.
“There are no right or wrong answers, only differences in opinion.” Dainsleif replied smoothly. “I simply wish to know what your choices would be.”
She stared, her mind running a mile a minute. He looked calm, though that was little comfort. That could change rapidly in a heartbeat, and if he was seeking trouble it would be easy for things to escalate.
Even so, his arms hung loosely at his sides, his shoulders at ease.
Just… waiting. Relaxed.
Not quite the aura of someone itching for a fight.
Slowly, she relented.
“Fine,” she exhaled sharply. “Go ahead.”
“Thank you. Then,” Dainsleif began. “Question one.”
“The crisis Mondstadt faced was resolved by an alliance between yourself and that… Anemo Archon who calls himself Venti. Who, in your view, was the key to ending that crisis?”
Her eyes shot wide open. “How did you know that Venti is–!?”
“I know enough,” the man interjected, a ghost of a smirk crossing his lips. Still, the rigid lines of his shoulders and shuttered shadow to his gaze made it clear that nothing more would be forthcoming.
“Well?” he pressed. “Answer the question.”
Lumine stared hard, her heart pounding in her chest.
Who is he?
Still, the man remained where he stood. Quiet. Scrutinising.
She swallowed.
“The unity of Mondstadt's people gave us the victory,” she eventually replied. While she might have functionally served as a lynchpin and Venti as a guide and supplier of power, it was ultimately the combined help of the Knights, Jean and Diluc who had facilitated their victory.
Dainsleif showed no outward reaction to her answer. His eyes remained assessing, and his posture remained distant. “Hm… I see.”
But before she could ask anything, he had already moved on.
“Question two. Rex Lapis, who has defended Liyue Harbour for millennia on end, used his Gnosis to lay down a Contract to End all Contracts, of which the stipulations are still unknown.”
How in the hell does he–?!
He continued without missing a beat. “Who do you think will defend Liyue Harbour in the future, now that they have lost their deity?”
She thought of the scaffolds that surrounded them, and the hasty shelters lining the harbour. The ghostly pulse of adeptal energy that flooded the air back then, and the almighty crash of the Jade Chamber smashing Osial back into his watery prison.
Wasn’t that obvious?
“Everyone in Liyue Harbour,” she answered, though her voice sounded distant to even her ears. Nobody other than herself, Paimon and the two Harbingers had been present when Zhongli made his revelation.
So how?
More importantly… What else did he know?
Dainsleif hummed. The wind had long since stopped blowing through the space between them.
“I see. Then, my final question.”
The weight behind his gaze could have rooted her to the spot.
“This world has people who gained Visions, and those who did not. Which of the two do you think hold more importance in the eyes of the gods?”
Despite the rush in her ears and the thundering in her chest, her thoughts drifted.
She thought of Venti, and of drunken smiles hiding a mountain of secrets. Of divine limitations, and the price of knowledge.
She thought of Zhongli, of cold, cracked stone groaning under ancient burdens and ruthless calculus. Of chaos labeled as order, of panic labeled as mercy.
She thought of every scream, every sob, every desperate cry — Vision-bearer or not.
She clenched her jaw.
“Maybe none of them do,” she answered finally, the words tasting bitter even as she spoke them.
Dainsleif's expression flickered for the briefest moment. Just a twitch of the mouth, something unreadable in the angle of his jaw.
“As I thought…” he trailed off, his tone flat. “You really are similar to him.”
He said nothing more; but the way his eyes pinned her in place, cool and appraising, made it clear the comparison wasn’t meant entirely as praise.
“Enough games.” Lumine spat. “Who are you? How do you know all this? Who is ‘him’?’”
“I’ve told you my name,” he replied. “I do not intend to explain how. And he… is someone I used to travel with.”
His shoulders shifted — a faint shrug that felt more like a dismissal than a gesture. “As agreed, I have learnt your views. And so, I'll leave you be.”
He turned on his heel.
Paimon bristled. “But you can't just walk away! You're–”
“I did mention I was here on business.” His gaze flicked back to Lumine. Not irritated, but assessing. “I have my own journey to complete, just as you clearly have yours.”
A beat. Lumine’s fingers twitched, not quite reaching for her blade, but aware of its weight.
Dainsleif didn’t step forward or draw back. He only watched her, and the stillness in him sharpened. Not frozen, but suspended. Waiting. The silence between them stretched thin, taut as a drawn bowstring.
Then, almost imperceptibly, he shifted. Not to relax, but as if settling on a decision.
“Have you noticed any signs of the Abyss Order during your time in Liyue?” he asked.
Lumine narrowed her eyes. “I thought you only wanted to ask three questions.”
“Consider this one... a gesture of good faith,” he said slowly. “I ask because I intend to hunt them down and stop them.”
That gave her pause.
A flicker of surprise crossed her face. She watched him carefully.
“I guess that means you're not with the Abyss Order.” Her back straightened slightly, the tension in her shoulders loosening by a fraction.
At that the blonde man scoffed — the sound loud, sharp and mirthless. “Far from it. I would never even consider touching that brand of madness… much less align myself with those traitors.”
Madness? Traitors?
She didn't relax, but she filed that away; a flicker of truth, perhaps. Lumine scrutinised him. The disgust on the man's features was unmistakable; too visceral to be fake, too quick to be performative.
She let out a quiet breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Her fingers uncurled from her palm, easing back from where they had been clenched.
She still didn’t trust him. Not completely. But for now, at least, he wasn’t an enemy.
“Alright, my turn for questions,” she began, her voice cool and steady. “You seem to know a fair bit. What is the Abyss, and what is this Order after?”
At that, Dainsleif turned to regard her fully. “Well, I suppose it’s only fair.”
“First, the Abyss… It is chaos, and it is also destruction. It is a morass of inconceivable madness that encroaches upon this world's very foundations,” he explained.
“As for the Order… I know that they seek to utilise this madness to destroy the nations watched over by the Seven.”
Paimon balked, her face white. “Destroy… All the nations?!”
“Why?” Lumine shot back. “What’s their deal?”
The blonde man sighed, a world-weary sound. For a moment, the lines in his face deepened. “Because the Seven who rule today…”
A shadow, bitter and hard, flickered across his expression.
“... once destroyed a nation that dared reject them. Five hundred years ago.”
There it was again. That fracture in history, five hundred years old.
And this time — between battles, burdens and bureaucracy — her memories had stirred, just slightly. Her latest crack through that ugly seal had held longer than back at Mondstadt, and with it came greater clarity. The haze veiling her past was beginning to thin.
She’d read too. Liyue’s numerous books and archives were scattered with whispers, coded names and forbidden truths; but it was enough. Enough to begin tracing the barest outlines of something vast, long buried… and utterly terrible.
“You mean Khaenri’ah,” she replied quietly.
His gaze sharpened. “So you do know about it.”
“Wait, you do?!” Paimon reeled back in shock. “How?”
She did not answer. Not here. But her jaw tightened. Her gaze slid past both of them, eyes distant, like she was watching a memory flicker back into life. The images of towering pillars of smoke and ash-laden skies framed by the eerie glow of firestorms finally had a name.
As well as the haunting gaze of gold eyes boring into her own, waking her in panic and begging for her to flee with him.
And lastly, those same eyes engulfed by terror.
Dainsleif’s voice gentled almost imperceptibly. “I won’t pry into your secrets. But if you are willing to share… I am willing to listen.”
Still, she hesitated.
Then–
“I know only fragments,” she answered, her words clipped. “But if what you’re saying about the Abyss Order’s motivations is true…” her voice dipped. “Then maybe you aren’t the only one who needs to hunt them down.”
Dainsleif hummed, low and unreadable. “...I see.”
He turned. “I came from Mondstadt following the trail of an Abyss Herald — a high-ranking member of the Order.”
“I won’t stop you if you wish to follow,” he added after a pause. “But know this: they aren’t a force to be taken lightly.”
And then, quieter:
“And sometimes… the answers we seek may not be the ones we want.”
Far to the north, under a twilight sky, the winds of Mondstadt twisted sharply, the currents disturbed and restless. Gentle trails of air coiled into harsh, uneasy spirals, discordant against quiet lands bathed in the moon’s pale glow.
The shift struck Venti like a dissonant chord, snapping him awake with a start. He sat up from the branch he was dozing on quickly, blinking as the rustling leaves overhead hissed in warning.
He had been dozing beneath the canopy of the great oak, letting the lull of Windrise cradle him. It had been a long day; his loss of the Gnosis meant that any information gathering had to be done the old fashioned way — through footwork and worn soles.
He could fly, but that was of little help when one needed to scour every nook and cranny of the countryside.
Despite his efforts, he hadn’t been able to turn up anything. He had seen the traces of Abyss Order activity in various ruins, yes; and he’d even thwarted an attempt to attack Andrius in the meantime. His search also led him to the various Fatui camps tucked away in the mountains. But nothing came up about the other half of Lumine’s starlit bloodline, the twin with the same golden eyes. Not even the frigid, abyss-tainted landscapes of Dragonspine had produced any clues.
He wasn’t sure what he’d say if he found him. But the echo of Lumine’s voice — quiet, frayed, clinging onto the wind — had haunted him through every gust since.
“Tell me Venti… what should I do?”
The words had drifted into his ears just hours prior. Broken, brittle, and gut-wrenching. The weight of it wound tightly around his ribs and gripped his chest, such that by the time the last of her prayer had brushed past him like a breeze through long grass, he had already slumped against the bark at Windrise.
The maudlin sting all that time ago when he grappled with the knowledge of her not scattering a single seed now felt childishly distant.
He had no answer. Not then, and certainly not now.
And he had not flown to her.
He couldn’t. The wind had carried her too slowly. By the time her grief had reached him, she had likely already cried it out alone.
Venti sighed. Such was one of the many consequences of relinquishing his Gnosis. The winds still answered his call, and his people’s faith in him — especially following Jean’s proclamation of their Archon’s assistance during the Stormterror Crisis — ensured he retained an elevated nature. However, his access to bending the laws of reality was now gone, and he had little choice but to rely on more dated methods.
His staying put wasn't for a lack of want either. On hearing her voice, he had wished for nothing more than to fly to her side, even if he had nothing to offer for the impact of Morax’s words.
But he’d already pushed the limits of his contract with the man by standing at the borders when that evil presence had hung over the land. He hadn’t been released from his vow, not formally. Morax had not yet spoken the words aloud. And without that closure, Venti remained. Leashed by courtesy, bound by contract.
Nonetheless, that was hours ago.
His wakefulness now was a sign of something else entirely.
He scanned the horizon, shoulders tensed. Waiting for something to happen.
Then, a sharp yank.
Not gentle. Not friendly.
A violent, visceral, painful flare.
He gasped, nearly falling off the branch.
His statue.
Not the ones that still dotted the landscapes of Mondstadt, that no longer allowed him total access. But one that he had long since thought lost; stolen and hidden behind abyssal veils for centuries, where even the winds could not reach.
Now, it was pulsing. Flaring with corruption.
Venti narrowed his eyes.
Severed from his statues as he was with the loss of the Gnosis, it didn’t mean he was entirely disconnected from them. And it wasn’t hard to pinpoint where this sudden rupture was coming from. It was practically screeching in his ears, despite the silence of the night air.
His fingers tightened around his lyre.
That statue showing up now could not be a coincidence. Not with the Abyss Order skulking about. Nor while Lumine was still in Liyue.
Or with the appearance of Dainsleif.
The pureblooded Khaenri’an had passed through Mondstadt like a ghost, trailing after every trace of the Abyss through the lands. All the while avoiding Windrise, the Cathedral, Andrius’ glade, and every single statue.
Worse, he had gone around asking about Lumine. Yes, he had spoken carefully, not once showing any signs of nefarious intent. But he had also sidestepped every avenue Venti could have used to draw close enough to really see him.
Venti hadn’t survived this long by being reckless. He wasn’t about to stroll up to a cursed, immortal being whose home had been destroyed — however unwillingly — by his hand. Just because he was opposing the Abyss Order didn’t make him safe.
Still, Venti followed; a breath trailing a shadow. Noting every place he surveyed, and every question he asked.
Until Dainsleif vanished across the border.
And now this.
He looked toward the land of Geo. The wind pulled faintly that way, uncertain.
Venti didn’t know if this entire thing was a trap. Or some insane ritual blooming to life. Or Morax’s plan cracking open and going awry.
But he did know what it meant.
The Order was moving.
He rose into the air, the winds buoying him against the darkness.
It was time to pay the old blockhead a visit, contract be damned.
Lumine spent the next several days following Dainsleif.
Despite his gruff facade, the man proved to be surprisingly cooperative. Even if he walked ahead of them like they were tag-a-longs as opposed to companions, directing their steps like some kind of detached guide. He rarely volunteered information outright, but when pressed, offered insights. Enough to show that he wasn’t chasing ghosts.
He didn’t give up all his secrets. Which was fair; she had not shared about how much she really knew.
Like the fact that she had witnessed Khaenri’ah destruction with her own eyes.
Nonetheless, the topic of the ancient nation eventually came up.
They had just managed to put down a particularly unruly group of hilichurls under the influence of an Abyss Mage loitering around an active Ruin Guard. Thankfully, Dainsleif proved to be just as dangerous as he looked, sidestepping the mage’s magics and Ruin Guard’s missiles like a seasoned warrior. His movements were rapid and unrelenting, flowing in between Lumine’s strikes to attack the floating annoyance and hulking construct like a living, bladed shadow. She noted that the man’s swordsmanship was unlike anything she had ever seen.
Then they found a talisman among the remains.
Dainslief stiffened as he picked it up.
“This…” he muttered, a curse on his lips as he spoke.
“What is it?” Lumine asked hesitantly.
“Instructions.” His jaw tightened as he scanned the unknown script. “Mentions of a large-scale operation… Tests… and the eye of the first Field Tiller?”
Dainsleif’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of bitter recognition across his expression. “So I was right.”
“What’s a Field Tiller? Some kind of farming equipment?” Paimon tilted her head.
His shoulders tensed, almost as if he had jumped slightly in surprise. The talisman crinkled under the tightness of his grip. “It’s…” he hesitated, seemingly choosing his words.
Then, he let out a sigh as he came to a decision. “The term ‘Ruin Guard’ is actually a modern term.” Dainsleif clarified. “These ‘Ruin Guards’ were codenamed ‘Field Tillers’ by the people of Khaenri’ah.”
“A codename?” Paimon blinked. “Does that mean–?”
“Yes. These constructs were built by them,” he exhaled. “The Khaenri’ans loved giving codenames to their weapons of war.”
He huffed as his gaze turned distant. “The land is not to be tilled with farming tools, but rather to be fought for with steel and blood… That is how the term ‘Field Tiller’ came about.” The words were robotic, monotonous even; as if he were reciting them from a faraway memory.
“Wait,” Paimon interjected, scratching her head. “Doesn’t this mean the Abyss Order has ties to Khaenri’ah?”
“Unfortunately, yes.” Dainsleif pinched the bridge of his nose. “Because they are what remains of them.”
“Hold on.” Paimon froze. “You’re saying they’re actual Khaenri’ans?! Aren’t they supposed to be humans? And wouldn’t that make them centuries old?!”
“Yes.” Dainsleif nodded, his expression darkening. “Those who survived the destruction ended up cursed. A final parting shot from the Heavenly Principles for the grave sin of living through hell.”
“That is why they seek vengeance so strongly. Not just for their destruction, but their disfigurement and prolonged suffering.” He turned back to the talisman, scanning its contents with growing concern. “Still, to think they’re trying this…” He frowned in disapproval, his voice dropping low. “Have they learned nothing?”
Lumine bit her tongue, halting the question that leapt instinctively to mind. Instead, she refocused.
“What do those instructions actually say?”
“Plenty, though much of it’s hard to understand…” Dainsleif’s brows furrowed in concentration. “There’s something about using Osial, the Field Tiller’s eye, and a divine statue to create a mechanized god.”
“That sounds completely insane,” Lumine muttered.
“We just shoved Osial back into the ocean!” Paimon groaned, throwing her hands up. “And now they want to make some kind of… cybernetic squid-god of mass destruction?! Is that even possible?”
“I don’t know. Such matters are not my area of expertise.” Dainsleif grimaced. “But considering that they’ve spent this many resources on it, we should assume that it is. Khaenri’ah’s advanced knowledge and capabilities are nothing to sneeze at.”
“You said ‘I was right’.” She pressed. “Are you saying you knew about it?”
“No, but I tracked them all over Mondstadt. They were combing through almost every ruin, even angering that wolf in search of the Field Tiller. I had a feeling, so I went to find the eye before they got their hands on it. Even so, I don’t think it would be enough.” He turned to Lumine, affixing the blonde Traveler with a grave look. “We need to track the Herald down and stop this before it goes any further.”
“What would happen if they succeed?" Lumine asked.
Dainsleif’s answer was grave. “Something far worse than Osial, that much I can guarantee.”
Paimon hovered, visibly deflated. “Paimon just wants to go home…”
Dainsleif exhaled heavily, looking out over the ridge. “…So do I.”
A few days later, while surveying the rocky slopes around Jueyun Karst, they found signs of a new trail. Blades of grass frozen stiff. Dark scorch marks across stone. Torn cloth caught on brambles, snapped blades littering the path. And most tellingly, the otherworldly tinge of adeptal energy permeating the air.
She caught the tension in his shoulders as he approached the site.
“These are fresh,” he muttered. “Whoever did this isn’t far.”
Lumine was already moving. She scaled the ridge quickly; there, standing amidst the felled remnants of a Treasure Hoarder encampment, was a figure clad in pale lavender and midnight blues. Graceful, poised… and visibly agitated as she scribbled something onto a piece of parchment.
“Ganyu?” Lumine blinked in surprise.
The adeptus turned. “Ah, Lumine! Paimon! I didn’t expect to see you all the way out here.”
Paimon zipped forward. “We could say the same to you! What’s going on?”
“The Ministry of Civil Affairs received reports about two Treasure Hoarder factions coordinating operations. I volunteered to investigate,” Ganyu replied, tucking her scroll away. Her tone was calm, but Lumine didn’t miss the exhaustion in her posture.
“Why?” Lumine asked, frowning. “Don’t you already have your hands full?”
“Yes, but the reports indicated that they’re targeting the Abyss Order. It would be safer for the Millelith and Adventurer’s Guild to stay away from this matter.”
Paimon paled. “They’re messing with the Abyss Order? Are they insane?”
“I thought the same,” Ganyu admitted. “But they clearly believe that there’s something valuable enough to take that risk. In fact, what I’ve gathered indicates that they’re targeting one specific location further ahead.”
“We’re–” Lumine glanced back, only to realise abruptly that Dainsleif had not followed. Something tightened in her chest, though she filed the thought away quickly. “–er, well, we’re tracking the Abyss Order actually. Seems like our trails might be lining up.”
“You’re going after them?” Ganyu frowned in concern. “That’s dangerous.”
“Believe me, it’ll be worse if I don’t. They seem to be doing something big, and they’ve sent in their elites.”
“Then let me come with you.” A bow blinked into the half-Qilin’s hand, ornate and deadly. “If it is something that serious, I shouldn’t leave it be.”
Lumine shifted uneasily. Dainsleif’s sudden discomfort and absence had to mean something — especially now. Thinking quickly, she settled on the best answer she could think of. “I appreciate the offer, but we need someone to keep others safe from wandering too close. Would you mind keeping watch and guarding the perimeter instead?”
Ganyu raised a brow. “Are you sure you do not need backup?”
“I appreciate the concern, but I’ve handled the Order before.” That much, at least, wasn’t a lie. “And if any more Treasure Hoarders wander in, it could ruin the element of surprise. You helping to prevent that will be invaluable.”
Ganyu hesitated, before finally giving her a slow nod. “... Very well.”
Lumine exhaled. “Thank you. I owe you one.”
“Speak nothing of it. Just be careful. May the spirit of Rex Lapis watch over you.”
With that, they parted ways. Ganyu vanished into the mist-dusted cliffs, and only after her footsteps faded did Dainsleif reappear from behind a cluster of rocks.
He gave her a meaningful look. “I appreciate the… discretion.”
She returned with half a nod. “Any chance you’d be willing to share what that was about?”
“Only a piece of advice: be wary around any divine being.” He turned his eyes to the path that Ganyu had taken. “Don’t blindly put your trust in them. Yet neither should you seek their destruction, even if they are your sworn enemy.”
Lumine frowned. “You do realise that sounds rather contradictory.”
He shrugged his shoulders in dismissal, moving to walk ahead once more toward the area Ganyu had outlined. “It is born from experience. Take it however you wish.”
They pushed deeper into the ravine, the terrain narrowing into twisting, uneven trails, dispatching the pockets of monsters and an occasional band of Treasure Hoarders that popped up. They moved in silence, their shoulders tense and eyes scanning every shadow. By the time they stepped into a grove shaded by jagged peaks and framed by dense trees, the last of daylight had long since faded. The air leading around them was slowly thickening, growing heavier with a taint that seemingly clung to every surface. An unmistakable whisper of static began to stutter in her ears, however faintly.
“The abyssal energies are slowly getting stronger.” Dainsleif observed. “We must be getting closer.”
“Then I suggest we find a safe spot to rest.”
There were no objections.
They hunkered down, Dainsleif settling at his usual distance away. Whether it was out of respect or a lingering sense of unease was anyone’s guess. But she wasn’t going to complain, some privacy was always welcome. Tonight, she offered to take first watch, if only to catch her breath and process her thoughts. Under the moon, she took her station at the edge of their little camp.
That was when she noticed.
A chime. A whistle.
And the faint, unmistakable scent of apples drifting through the air. Beckoning her.
She followed, moving slowly through the cluster of trees, her eyes focused on every movement she saw, her ears trained on every sound amidst the breeze. Here amid the open parts of the ravine the moon shone clear, casting pale light across open spaces and drawing deep shadows beneath the rocks. Save for the rustle of leaves, the buzz of insects and the crunch of dirt beneath her steps, the night was still — broken only by the lone, chime-like whistle in the wind.
And then, her breath caught.
There, atop a rock with an apple in one hand and a half-smile playing on his lips, sat a youthful bard in green, bathed in moonlight.
“Fancy meeting a fair lady such as yourself on this fine evening,” he began, a mildly teasing lilt to his voice.
“Venti,” she breathed, feeling something loosen in her chest.
“I hope you don’t mind a modest supper.” He hopped down from his perch and placed the apple in her hand. “Or maybe…” He hesitated as his touch lingered over the skin of her wrist, “a belated answer.”
Her grip tightened around the fruit. “You heard me.”
“Every word,” he answered, his voice quieting. “I wanted to come to you sooner… But I had a contract with Morax. I couldn’t move freely like I wanted. And by the time the winds brought your voice to me…” His eyes turned away in shame. “It was probably already too late.”
Lumine swallowed the lump rising in her throat. “I wasn’t expecting an answer. You did say it would take time.”
Venti’s gaze flicked back to her, searching. “But you did hope for one.”
Her free hand reached forward, tugging his hand into hers. “You’re here now,” she muttered.
The bard blinked, silent. Then, he moved, sliding his fingers between hers. Warmth seeped into his skin at the contact, made stronger by the fact that she didn’t pull away. “Yeah,” he breathed, giving her hand a quick squeeze. “I’m here.”
Lumine regarded him with a tired smile. “That’s good enough.”
They stood in silence for a while, savouring the heat between them and letting their joined hands ground them.
“About how things went with Morax…” he said, breaking the stillness. “I’m sorry.”
She let out a weary sigh. “I… I still don’t know what to think honestly.” Her gaze fell on the fruit within her grip. “But I guess I sort of get it, even if I disagree.”
Venti rubbed soothing circles into the back of her hand. “That’s fair… Still, I wished things were smoother for you. It's been hard enough already.”
“At least I have another lead with regards to my brother,” she added. “So there’s that.”
Then Dainsleif’s earlier advice sprang to mind.
“Er, but the person is…”
“It’s okay,” he murmured, though the warmth in his voice wavered. “I know.”
She blinked in surprise. “You do?”
“Your travel companion has been hunting the Order all over Mondstadt. And given that he was also asking around about you, I kept an eye on him,” he admitted sheepishly.
A small flush crept under her cheeks.
“I don’t think he will hurt you,” Venti added. He wouldn’t allow it, either. “But I would still advise caution.”
“Because he’s from Khaenri’ah too, isn’t he?” she asked plainly. “Just like the Abyss Order?”
Venti winced. “So you know.”
“Yeah,” she murmured. Her fingers shifted slightly in his grip. “He told me about how the Order wants vengeance against the gods. And… some of my memories are coming back too.”
“... I see.”
Venti turned his gaze downwards, his hold on her faltering. The words weighed heavily on his shoulders.
He braced himself. Briefly, he wondered which was going to be worse: to be abandoned, or to be regarded as an enemy.
To his surprise, she moved closer. “I don’t have all the facts. And maybe I never will… I am just one person in a large world.”
“But I’ve lived a long life, Venti,” she continued. “I’ve seen gods who've died for the mortals they adore, and deities who treated men as little more than mindless playthings. I’ve witnessed grand displays of devotion weaponized for cruelty, and supplication demanded as right.”
She tugged on his arm, her mind recalling a free-spirited bard bogged by divine shackles, and a stoic man with amber eyes worn down by time. “I know how the relationship between man and god can sow prosperity and destruction alike. There is always far more than meets the eye when they clash.”
“So I can only rely on what I see. And right now…” It was her turn to run a thumb across the back of his hand, mirroring the movements he had done just moments prior. “I see someone who cares. Someone who is still trying, even with the weight of secrets.”
He exhaled shakily, the words tugging fiercely at the knots in his chest. “You don't worry that it's all an illusion?” His head hung low. “That it’s… that I’m just another lie?”
“Honestly, I don’t think I will ever fully know." The answer stung, while guilt and shame burned him in equal measure.
She glanced down at their joined hands. “But that's what faith is about, isn't it? Choosing to believe, even without all possible proof.”
Venti stilled.
She pressed the apple into his palm, cradling both the fruit and his fingers in between her hands. “So when a friendly bard comes along to cheer me up, not with a sermon or spectacle but with a simple and thoughtful gift, I think it’s safe to say it’ll be okay.”
He shuddered, his shoulders nearly slumping with the force of his breath. “That means… far more than you know,” he whispered.
“You don’t have to tell me anything,” she assured him.
Both his arms rose to clasp her hands with trembling fingers. “But I want to,” he stated with an urgency to his words she had not heard in a while. “You’ve…”
“You’ve shown me so much grace, far more than I deserve. It’s not fair for you to place this much trust in me… and me giving you nothing more than words.”
“I may not be able to talk directly about some things.” He grimaced, his eyes flicking to the sky above; to the ever distant palace high up in the heavens. “But I can tell you about the things around them.”
With hushed tones and clipped words, Venti began a small but poetic tale. A tale of a slumbering god’s likeness poached by darkness into depths unknown. How a crucial part of reality’s veins, the roots of the world tree, disappeared along with it; remaining hidden behind veils and obscured from sight for centuries. And of a vengeful darkness born from suffering growing steadily over five hundred years, biding its time; culminating in a single, brilliant flare the night before. A painful, violent flare steeped in corruption, cradled by the stone visage of divinity defiled. A flare that sprung a slumbering one into action, to break past contract and distance in defense of windborne home and starbound heart.
Lumine listened, her brows creasing in confusion as the story unfolded. The words were abstract and poetic, sounding more like something shared in a historical sermon than as an honest exchange. But as Venti continued, his solemn expression and urgent tone never wavering despite the bardic cadence of his words, something within her mind sharpened. It was code — meaning threaded through metaphor and musicality.
Then he landed on the closing note: “starbound heart.”
It caught her off guard. A warmth crept up the back of her neck before she could stop it.
She didn’t understand it all yet. But it was the truth, given in the only way he knew how.
“The Abyss Order defiled your statue? And it’s here?”
“It seems so. I still have no idea for what, though I have my guesses. Unfortunately, the functions of the World Tree aren't my area of expertise.”
Lumine shivered. “Then that must be that divine statue their instructions were talking about. They are planning to use it in combination with Ruin Guard parts and Osial to create a mechanized god, apparently.”
Venti’s eyes widened in alarm. The mere idea alone was horrific. The consequences, much more so.
“Doesn’t that mean you’re in danger?” Lumine asked, worry creeping into her voice. “It’s your statue. If you could feel it all the way in Mondstadt, it might poison you again. And what about your contract with Zhongli?”
“The old blockhead wasn’t exactly thrilled to see me,” Venti admitted with a breezy laugh. “But I’m not interfering with his plans, so I’m in the clear.”
He didn’t add that he’d only had to dodge one boulder this time. Or that Morax was still, inexplicably, catastrophically petty and rude.
“As for the issue of poison, I’m fine for now. Losing my little badge of godhood is a perk, this time. But,” his head dipped in concern, “I wouldn’t rule out the possibility of it happening either.”
Lumine held him, determination burning in her gaze. “Then I have one more reason to go hunt the Order down.”
He tugged her back, resting a hand on her shoulder. “I’m going with you,” he said. “That’s the whole reason why I came here. And you’ve borne enough on your own.”
“But what about Dainsleif? He knows who you are, and I don’t think he will take too kindly to seeing you.”
Venti chuckled wryly, the bell-like sound soothing something within Lumine’s chest. “Then I just have to be what I am, a wisp amidst the land’s winds and the breeze at your back.” His eyes glimmered with light mischief. “He might have avoided me all through Mondstadt, but I’m just as good, if not better, at hiding.”
He laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Go rest, Lumine. A challenging day awaits us both.”
“Then what about you? I’d offer a space at camp, but…”
He smiled. “I’ll rest where the wind blows the freshest, among the branches. It’s no Windrise, but it'll do.”
Then, he gave her a small wink. “And fear not, I won’t be far. Nothing will disrupt your rest tonight.”
Lumine looked away, towards the edge of the camp behind her. “Well, I’m on first watch right now, so…”
She glanced back at the bard, a dusting of pink spreading across her ears. “Some company would be nice.”
His heart stuttered, before he returned with a shy smile.
“As the good lady wishes, so it shall be.”
Dawn broke with the chirping of birds and rustling of grass, and Lumine opened her eyes to the caress of a warm breeze moving past her cheek. The morning winds curled around the camp in gentle spirals, bringing the scent of apples and morning dew to them all.
Paimon raised a knowing brow at her across the campfire. Lumine considered it unnecessary to answer with anything more than an eye-roll.
The group continued their trek deeper through the ravine, following the trail and paying close attention to the area that Ganyu had pointed them to. Throughout, she moved with purpose, her steps steadier than the days prior. If Dainsleif noticed the shift in her stance, he made no comment on it — leading the way in his usual taciturn silence.
It did not take them long to locate the place the Order was hiding in. The amount of abyssal energy radiating from the cave’s massive mouth was staggering enough. Paimon hovered by Lumine’s side as they delved in, her expression pinched in worry.
The path through the cavern twisted and turned, snaking through the earth like a jagged serpent. As they descended further, the scent of rot thickened. Mosses wilted where corruption touched, and stone overhead dripped with dark, oily traces. Even Dainsleif’s expression soured with each step, though he said nothing. Lumine’s hand drifted near her weapon in anticipation.
Behind her a steady draft blew, brushing around her shoulders protectively. Venti followed them all, in breeze and pulse as they moved through the earth.
Eventually, they came to a yawning gallery, where the path branched off into several large tunnels.
“It’s so dark…” Paimon whispered, not quite daring to lift her voice any further.
“This is too quiet,” Dainsleif said as he surveyed the multiple winding paths. “They are here, and yet none have shown themselves.”
“Maybe they’re further in?” Paimon hazarded a guess.
“Then we may need to split up to cover more ground,” he answered. “We may not have the time to scout every tunnel.”
Lumine nodded. “Call out if anything happens.”
“Stay safe.”
Dainsleif moved, blade drawn and steps silent, disappearing into the shadows.
And Lumine pressed ahead down a different slope, Paimon’s hands clutched onto her scarf.
Yet, the deeper she ventured, the more the world seemed to tilt on its axis. The paths grew more winding and the stones more twisted. Lights flickered unnaturally across the cavern walls — looking less like reflections and more like memories twisted into images. A strange silhouette. An empty throne. A city drowned. The all-too-familiar noise of discordant static pulsed ever stronger as she moved, feeling like it was calling out to her, until it became impossible to ignore its pull when she stepped into another expansive cave.
And then she saw it.
Nestled within the chamber’s heart, like a tumor embedded in bone, a defiled statue loomed.
The air on her back dispersed, spreading across the cavernous space.
What once had been a reflection of divinity — the serene face of Barbatos, hands outstretched in silent benediction, now hung upside down; bound in chains and bearing a violent vortex of curses within his fingers. Angelic wings of stone now reflected off the walls like demonic shadows, and the wrongness of the entire image was enough to make Lumine shield her eyes in defense.
As she inched forward in trepidation, she noticed a lone figure slumped before the statue seemingly in supplication. A human, kneeling on the ground, an unnatural stillness to their posture.
It was only upon closer inspection that the reason for that became clear.
“He’s… he’s dead!” Paimon flinched backwards.
“And by the looks of it, probably for a while now. He must be one of those Treasure Hoarders who came in here for their operation.” Lumine shook her head. The poor sob likely didn’t even know what he was up against before the abyssal powers swirling within the statue had sucked him in — mind, body and all.
Then, the air around her shifted. The breeze moving about the cavern faltered, and she felt, more than heard a faint gasp on the wind.
“Venti?” she whispered.
The wind didn’t answer, but she felt the jarred movements in the currents and that spark — the little piece of him within her — sputtered in pain. Her breath hitched.
“Stay close to me,” Lumine urged, moving to stand before the statue. “Don’t go any closer to it.”
Still he remained silent, but she felt the wind retreat, coiling back from the reaches of the cavern to find shelter around her shoulders.
“We need to stop this,” Lumine muttered. “Any ideas on how to destroy this thing?”
The winds stilled, uncertain.
But any further thought was tossed aside with the sound of inhuman screeches filling her ears.
“Monsters!” Her sword jumped to her hand. “Stay back, Paimon!”
They rose from corrupted pools of ichor on the ground like undead shadows, charging towards her with animalistic fury.
She did not hesitate.
Her blade sang as she surged forward, Anemo and Geo tinged with celestial gold blasting through her attackers in force. She moved between them like lightning, her glow sparking off the cavern’s darkened walls. One slipped behind her, but a sudden gust shoved her shoulder just enough to twist the blow off-course. Another leapt only to have its arc halted mid-air, sent crashing into her Geo constructs by an updraft not of its own making.
She didn’t look back. She didn’t need to.
He was with her.
Even as the corruption from the statue still clawed at him — fresh waves of pain replacing every inch of ease her starlight gave — Venti sheltered her in every way he could. A stray breeze redirecting a fatal strike, a momentary lift that sent her blade arcing higher, deeper. Each time she staggered, the wind steadied her steps. Every breath she took carried the faint, dry-sweet scent of apples.
Still, the monsters proved unrelenting. For every one that she felled, another would rise to take its place. Soon the discordant static that had permeated the air was drowned in a sea of howls and snarls, punctuated by the sounds of bursting winds and smashing earth.
The clamour rose enough to reach even Dainsleif, who soon charged in from the distance in a flurry of shadow and steel.
With another blade joining the fray, the pair made quick work of the waves of monsters. Soon, all that was left were the piles of bodies left in their wake.
But of course, the Order was not done.
For immediately, the statue pulsed — low and resonant, as though echoing from the bones of the cavern itself. Then the air tore open with the screech of metal being raked across stone. A curtain of void split space itself, swallowing the light.
And an Abyss Herald emerged, his imposing form looming over them all. He bore a tall frame covered in ceremonial robes of deep blue, and wore immaculate armour gleaming with abyssal light. Void like energies shrouded him, and he brought an icy presence that dropped the temperature of the room by several degrees.
“Dainsleif.” The voice that came out was deep, monstrous and dripping with venom. Frost bloomed in distorted halos along his gauntlets. “Your treachery knows no bounds.”
“I have no words for an abomination like you.” Dainsleif levelled his blade without a trace of fear. “Fall, like the rest of them.”
And the world moved once more.
The three clashed violently, the cavern filling with the explosive cacophony of elemental combat. The Herald moved in disorienting patterns, blinking in and out of existence through various portals so rapidly it almost appeared he was cloning himself. Icy blades tore through the air, debilitating and cutting; and even with the wind on her back Lumine was hard pressed to stay on her feet. Every lethal blow missed her only by a hair’s breadth, and several times she was only saved by a desperate wall of Geo taking the brunt of the attack, or by the timely intervention of Dainsleif’s blade.
Nonetheless, despite the burn of fatigue in her limbs and sting of frost biting through her skin, Lumine remained undeterred. Her sword — a parting gift from the Knights of Mondstadt and sharpened with Liyue’s signature techniques — swung true, tearing a gash into the Herald’s side. Dainsleif gave no quarter following with a heavy blow, the full length of his blade burying itself into the wound.
The impact drove the Herald to his knees, the ethereal blades of frost surrounding him dissolving into the air. Dark ichor spilled from the wound, soaking through sundered plate and tattered robes.
“You fight like he does…” the Herald gasped, gripping his side as he stared at Lumine.
Dainsleif tore the blade out with no mercy, planting his boot on the Herald’s armoured head. “Speak — how do we tear this statue down?” He drew the length of the bloodied blade along the Herald’s neck, the tip of it hovering at the joint between plate and cloth.
Despite it all, the Herald chuckled weakly. “And you think…” he coughed, blood gurgling in his throat, “I would tell you? Do what you want, Twilight Sword; it… changes nothing.” His voice stayed mocking even as he rasped through the pain. “The Abyss can’t be stopped… even if you smashed… that little stone carving to pieces.”
Dainsleif ground his heel into the Herald’s head. The creature groaned in pain, but his mockery did not cease.
He drew his arm back, poised to deliver the killing blow.
A pulse of pressure sliced through the air. Space ripped open, a portal yawning beside him with a screech of tearing metal.
The momentary glance in alarm was all the Herald needed.
Sweeping an armoured arm across Dainsleif’s legs, he sent the blonde swordsman tumbling. He heaved himself up on unsteady feet, gasping for air as he staggered into the void.
“No!” Dainsleif roared, charging after the disappearing Herald–
–only for his blade to be smashed aside, and the cavern to echo with the sound of crashing steel.
Then–
Lumine was stunned by a sight she’d seen more than a million times. A sight she thought she'd lost to time, now returned from the realm of dreams.
Gold locks, bundled in a loose braid, tossed over a shoulder. Windswept hair over the crown of his head, messy and tousled but irritatingly artful. That dark coloured top and pants that she’s seen ever since her earliest memories, their colour deeper than the galaxies they once flew under. A white shawl — adorned with gold trims in the patterns of their homeland. A single, glowing earring; hers originally. A sword of the brightest gold, forged from the cores of stars, tempered by cosmic light.
And the only pair of fiery golden eyes to ever match her own across the cosmos.
She felt her knees buckle.
Her breath caught. Even the air itself seemed to freeze, becoming too heavy to draw in. Every word that she had practiced for this day died on her dry, sluggish tongue.
He blinked, his gaze assessing. Calculative.
And then she heard the voice that has plagued her dreams and nightmares alike.
“Lumine.”
She stumbled forward, arm outstretched. It felt like looking through a plane of clouded glass. “Y-You’re… I-I found you…”
Then the situation caught up to her.
“Why…” she gaped in shock at the sight of the blade, his blade, drawn against them. “Why did you defend that thing?”
He stared at her, his expression unreadable.
An icy chill went down her spine.
This was wrong. His eyes were supposed to be sunny, lively — bright with stupid laughter.
Not this.
“Lumine.” The sound of his voice — his voice, the one she thought she’d never hear again — snapped her out of her thoughts. “Why are you with Dain?” he asked, his tone flat.
The gears in her mind ground to a halt.
“...what?”
Months… months of separation. Months of sleepless nights, lost appetites, looking blankly at skies drained of colour–!
And this was the first thing he asked?
Shock gave way to fury.
“What the hell?” she hissed, before her voice rose to a yell. “ What is wrong with you ?!”
Dainsleif let out a tired, bitter huff. “Long time no see… Aether.”
The words hit her like a sack of bricks.
She whirled on the man. “You know him?!”
Dainsleif remained stock still, his stance drawn tauter than a bowstring. “He…” he said, voice caught halfway between a growl and a sigh, “is the person I used to travel with.”
“That man,” Aether cut in, the tip of his blade shifting. “You need to stay away from him, Lumine.”
“I’m not doing anything until you start making sense!” she hissed, her head reeling from the storm of questions within.
“I’ll only warn you once out of respect for your sister, Aether,” Dainsleif’s tone lowered dangerously. “Drop your weapon.”
Aether raised his sword fully against Dainsleif. “No chance.”
And they moved.
Lumine barely registered the next few moments.
Only that she, too, had surged forward; instincts screaming, gold flaring and blade raised — though in defense of whom, she didn't know.
And then the cosmic sword — the very one that had swung in her defense for millennia — began to angle towards her.
She didn’t want to believe it. Stars, she couldn’t.
But reality came crashing with a metallic shriek, as starforged metal slammed into Favonian steel with a deafening screech.
Her shock was only cemented further by the impact ringing down her arms and reverberating through her bones.
And now they stood: brother and sister, twin stars poised with blades crossed. His eyes, dimmed with distance yet wide with disbelief, met hers.
For a single, breathless moment, neither dared move.
Then a sound like rushing thunder boomed.
And the next thing she knew, both she and Dainsleif had been pushed back, out of reach of Aether’s blade. Divine Anemo slammed into place like a fortress, teal currents spiralling outward to shield them.
Venti blurred into being before her, gaze sharp and arms flung wide in a protective stance. The statue’s corrupt air seared harshly against his skin as he took solid form, but he did not waver.
“You,” Aether hissed, readjusting his hold on his blade. “Of course it would be you.”
“I do not intend to fight you,” Venti spoke, keeping his eyes trained on the blonde twin. He flexed his open palms in what would hopefully be taken as a show of good faith. “But I will not let you hurt her.”
Aether ignored the bard, golden eyes shooting past him to Lumine’s in a heated stare. His expression flickered, a myriad of emotions flashing across his face.
“I do not need help from you ,” Dainsleif growled, the words spat out like a curse. The force of the push back had sent him tumbling, and he glared at the wind god from one knee with barely concealed disdain.
“Then forgive my presumption, but I believe that violence right now will only lead to regrets,” Venti answered, his tone clipped and voice tight with pain. “You may exact your displeasure later, if you so wish.”
Lumine’s heart pounded against her ribs. This was getting out of hand. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She needed to regain control, or this was going to get extremely ugly.
She’d seen her sibling broken and bruised in her nightmares enough. She could not stomach that becoming reality.
Her voice rose to a desperate yell, nearly cracking from the intensity.
“Back down, both of you!”
Three pairs of eyes darted to her in confusion.
Venti hesitated, his eyes flicking to her. “Lumine–”
“Please,” she pleaded, the grip on her blade nearly turning her knuckles white. It took all of her control to stop her voice from shaking. “I need to speak with him alone.”
“Alone?” Dainsleif rose to his feet, shoulders tensed. “I don’t think so.”
“Dainsleif, if you think I cannot handle myself, then you are sorely mistaken,” Lumine snapped back, barely throwing the swordsman a second glance. “But I’m not letting things go any further until I figure out what the hell is going on.” She grit her teeth. “Leave.”
Aether surveyed her in silence, his blade never once wavering. The fact that she could not read him was infuriating.
“You wish to talk?” he finally said.
“Yes. No fighting, no bullshit. Just you and me. They leave us,” she nodded to Venti and Dainsleif, “and you don’t call anything out from the darkness.”
She stared at him. “Please.”
After what felt like an eternity, Aether’s stance finally softened by a fraction. Still, his blade remained in his hand. “Fine.” He shot both Dainsleif and Venti a cold glare. “Leave us.”
The walls of Anemo fell away as Venti stepped back. “I will be nearby,” he whispered, feeling his spark flaring within her in silent tandem. “Call and I will come.”
She nodded stiffly. “Thank you.”
Venti returned a curt nod before vanishing into the air.
Dainsleif, however, remained still. For a fleeting moment, it looked like he would refuse.
But mercifully the swordsman, too, dropped out of his stance. “As you wish. But make no mistake,” he shot Aether a warning glare. “If you dishonour that agreement and I hear a hint of battle, I am charging right back in.”
“Unlike some people, Twilight Sword, I keep my oaths.”
Dainsleif raised a single, disdainful brow.
“Do you?”
His parting answer haunted the cavern walls long after his footsteps died away.
Silence fell once more, and Lumine finally found the strength to speak.
“空.”
The name made his shoulders tense, and for a moment Lumine noted what looked like uncertainty flash behind the icy wall within his gaze. Their tether, their link that has joined them for the millennia they’ve spent traveling the cosmos, sputtered within her.
“What is this, 空?” she asked, her throat tight. “What happened to you?”
“Nothing that I want to repeat,” he threw back, and Lumine caught the restless twitch in his fingers. “My only purpose for speaking is this: don’t try to stop me. Don’t try to stop the Abyss.”
“But why?” she hissed.
“Because we are simply seeking what is due. From the Heavenly Principles, and from traitors like the Twilight Sword who watched their own countrymen turn into monsters.”
He levelled a stony glare. “This world is corrupt, and only overturning the heavens is going to right this wrong.”
“Do you realise what you sound like right now?!” Lumine staggered back slightly, her voice rising once more. “You… you sound like every vengeful extremist we’ve ever encountered! You despised those!”
His brows furrowed as he turned his gaze away. “Who I was doesn’t matter anymore,” he muttered.
Lumine felt her heart stop.
This wasn’t happening.
A thousand years, a whole millennia and more of life. Of tender-hearted caution, of loving freedom and the spirit of adventure; of flight and play, of wonder and love, of trials and tears–
And it no longer mattered?
Her limbs went numb. He may as well have run his blade clean through her heart.
And even that would have hurt less.
“All that matters is that I will not let these people down. Never again.” His expression became pained, guilt and grief hardening with each word till his regret resolved into harsh, jagged edges. Nothing like the sunny, comforting presence he was supposed to be. “Until the Abyss has engulfed the thrones, my war with destiny will see no end.”
“Destiny? What does that have to do with any of us?” she asked through gritted teeth. Hot tears slid silently down her cheeks as her shoulders shook. “This… this isn’t you.” The notion alone made her voice crack harshly, and her next words came in choppy, breathless sobs. “Please… please let’s just go home.”
Her words finally hit home. Aether flinched, and for a single, trembling instant, she saw it — actual, genuine fear — slipping through the cracks in the sharp edges of the mask he was donning like armour. His grip on his blade faltered, and even through her tears Lumine could see the hesitation in his lowered shoulders, and the tremor in his arms.
“I don’t care where we go anymore, 空.” Lumine begged, taking a step towards him. “As long as we’re together, home is wherever you are. Please.” She reached out, hand shaking and legs barely holding her upright. “Let’s go home.”
His eyes flicked to her outstretched hand. The cracks in his mask widened. Fear, guilt and grief raged within his gaze.
Her stomach dropped when he shifted backwards.
“I can’t, 荧,” he choked out. The name broke painfully on his tongue. “That’s already cost me everything.”
Her heart shattered.
“Listen to me,” he continued breathlessly. “I have already traveled this world once before. Go on your journey. See the true nature of the world for yourself.”
“I don’t understand!” Lumine yelled. “Why can’t you just tell me what’s going on?! Why can’t we figure this out together?!”
A portal bloomed open behind him, the noise of it echoing through the cavern. It swirled harshly, brimming with finality.
“Because I have my role.” His eyes rose back to meet hers, already shuttering and dimming once more with distance. “And I suspect that you already have chosen yours.”
She drew her blade, even as her knees threatened to buckle. “Don’t do this,” she begged. The blade trembled violently in her grip. “Don’t go where I can’t follow.”
“Finish your journey. See for yourself why this must be done.” He turned his back fully, even as his next words were forced and thick with repression. “But don’t rush it. Don’t just chase me, and blindly pass things by.”
“So what?” she countered angrily. “I’m supposed to let you fall, let you wage war, while I take the bloody scenic route?!” She took another step forward. “Are you fucking serious?!”
He paused, one foot at the portal’s edge. The void gate loomed over him, smoky shadows coiling at his feet.
“Yes.” The words came out fragile. As if it was inevitable. “Because you need to see it all — the rot, the lies, the filth — in full.”
He threw one final, broken glance at her. “I won’t stop…. But I promise you we will meet again at the end.”
“No!” She screamed, leaping forward.
But Aether had already stepped through, sinking into the darkness as he once did, letting the black shadows engulf him as the portal began to shrink.
A blur shot past her.
Dainsleif lunged from the edge of the cavern with a snarl, his footsteps thundering across the stone. Without hesitation, he dove straight into the portal just as it closed.
The portal swallowed them both, collapsing with a sound like tearing starlight.
And just like that, he was gone. Again.
And the tether of aetherial gold in her flickered weakly, now dimmed behind a void-like wall.
Lumine crumpled to the stone floor as the cave plunged into deathly silence.
The statue pulsed once more. And the earth above her head began to groan.
Paimon darted out from her hiding place, her face white as a sheet. “Lumi!” She pulled the blonde’s arm urgently. “Lumi we need to go!”
But her efforts proved futile. Lumine remained unmoving among the piles of bodies, her limbs like lead and eyes void of life. Stone and debris began to loosen from the ceiling, falling to the ground with an ominous clatter.
Venti blurred back into being, wincing as he knelt before the pair. His chest twisted at the sight of her golden starlight — severely dimmed and flickering in grief.
“Tone-Deaf Bard!”
“Hold on tight, Paimon,” he instructed as he gathered a catatonic Lumine into his arms. It was worrying that even this close, with her limp figure pressed into his chest, that her golden glow wasn't able to fully ease the pain of corruption. Venti inhaled sharply as his skin burned; he would need to be swift. Paimon wordlessly clamped herself on the blonde’s side. “This will be rough.”
The winds under his feet exploded just as the first of the boulders fell.
Venti tore through the crumbling, tainted tunnels like a typhoon, swerving through a stony hailstorm pulled down by abyssal forces. The winds stormed and howled at his back, screeching in defiance against the very mountain that seemed determined to bury them alive.
He spied the distant light at the end, heart lodged in his throat–
Only for his stomach to drop when the mouth of the cave shuddered, the halo of light shrinking rapidly before his eyes.
Frantic and half-blinded by pain, not even the blast he hurled forward could slow the closing enough.
But just as he thought they would be swallowed by darkness–
–a blinding flash of amber flared, freezing the earth in its tracks.
Venti burst out into the sunlight in a sonic boom.
And the amber glow receded, allowing the mountain to bury every trace of monster and defilement under its weight.
Chapter Text
Among the many places he’s seen through his long life, adeptal domains were always among the most intriguing.
Spaces carved into the fabric of reality itself, with near infinite potential — limited only by the builder’s imagination and power to bring that mental picture to life. From mythic landscapes to lush abodes, adeptal domains were among the closest physical manifestations of the concept of creative freedom. And the adepti of Liyue, the original and historical practitioners of this art, were among the foremost in crafting such safe spaces for themselves and those under their care.
Thus when he crash-landed onto the peaks of Mount Aocang in a harried frenzy, pain and panic flooding him in equal measure, Cloud Retainer wasted no time. The usually testy adeptus shoved him into her domain wordlessly, drawing up a private corner and creating a soft landscape with little more than a flare of her wings. She noted Paimon buzzing with barely concealed fear, and summoned her for assistance to gather crucial herbs to prepare a healing brew — one fit for Lord Barbatos and the heroic Traveler who had nobly defended Liyue.
“Your panicked fussing is of no use to your dear friend,” Cloud Retainer explained, her tone motherly even with the bluntness of her words. “Focus your energy on this instead, and learn a useful recipe for future use. One assures you it is of utmost potency.”
Paimon knew better than to argue.
Of course, she did comment about the impropriety of leaving a man alone with a clearly weakened lady, something which mortified Venti to no end. Nonetheless the proud crane adeptus excused herself respectfully, leaving him with the storied assurance that the Anemo Archon’s affairs were no business of hers.
Venti wished she had just left things with a promise of medicine.
In the silence of the room, he limped towards the bed, lifting Lumine onto the plush mattress. Right now, she needed rest. He could deal with his mortification once she was safe.
But before he could release her, trembling arms shot out to clamp around his waist. His attempt to gently pry her arms loose was met with resistance, the tremors in her hold strong enough to shake even him.
Heat bloomed under his cheeks even as his heart ached.
With little choice, Venti resigned himself, lowering himself onto the bed with Lumine’s head nestled in his lap and his fingers enclosed in an almost crushing grip. He laid his cape across her shaking shoulders, careful to tuck the edges of the fabric under her.
He rested his back against the wall, releasing a bone-deep sigh. He was exhausted.
His eyes slid shut before he could stop them.
When he could finally crack his eyes open once again, the domain’s skies had turned dark. A wind chime rang softly in the background, and the air was filled with the heady scent of incense. A scent that he was familiar with, as it was the same one that hung around the Vigilant Yaksha, used to calm the mind and counter the effects of corrosion. A quick glance at the nearby table showed two covered bowls — the medicinal brews no doubt.
He smiled despite himself.
Then, he heard the rustle of fabric. He looked down sharply to see the blonde stirring in his lap.
“Lumine?” he whispered. Gingerly, he reached out, brushing a hand against her hair.
Lumine’s eyes fluttered open. For a long moment, she did not speak — her throat dry and utterly weakened.
Her gaze moved slowly. The ceiling. The dim light of the lanterns. The soft thrum of the wind outside.
And then her eyes locked on his.
Venti exhaled. “Hey.”
Her brow furrowed. “Where...?”
“Safe,” he answered gently. “We’re in Cloud Retainer’s domain.”
She blinked again. “Why are you…?”
His expression turned sheepish, and it was futile to fight the flush creeping up his neck. “Tried to lay you down properly… But you didn’t let go.”
Her gaze sharpened to full alertness as blood rushed to her ears. She pushed herself out of his lap, bringing the warmth of her skin away. “S-sorry, I shouldn’t have–”
“Hush.” He shook his head. “It’s okay. I would have stayed regardless.”
“Though, since you’re awake, you might want to take some medicine.” He looked towards the table. “Cloud Retainer has been a gracious host.”
“... Alright.”
They slid into the chairs, sipping the brew in silence. Venti kept his words to himself; he would not push until she was ready. If this night had to pass by in total silence, he would gladly keep a quiet vigil for her.
After all, she had just seen her greatest nightmare repeated in the flesh.
Even he would be hard pressed to find the right words to soothe that kind of wound.
Lumine remained quiet even after she had finished. She turned toward the window, her gaze distant as she studied the artificial stars hanging in the domain’s skies.
After what felt like forever, she broke the silence.
“How… are you feeling?” she asked, her voice small. “You were hurting back there.”
His heart twisted painfully. “Don’t worry about me. I will be fine.”
“But–”
“Lumine.” He frowned at her.
She flinched.
Venti shifted closer. But she did not meet his eyes.
He exhaled, slow and quiet, as he shook his head.
“It’s admirable,” he began softly. “How you care so deeply. Makes it impossible to even admonish you, in times like this.”
Her shoulders remained stiff. “You shouldn’t hide your hurt,” she murmured. “I didn’t manage to–”
“I am in pain, I won’t lie,” he admitted, his tone calm but unflinching. “But it is not your burden to bear. Not tonight.”
She did not answer, but Venti saw how her jaw tightened, how her fists clenched in response.
He leaned out of his seat, lowering himself before her to catch her gaze where it hid behind her lashes. The floor was cool under his knees, and his knuckles brushed lightly against the back of her hand.
“You don’t need to earn your right to feel, Lumine.”
Her breath caught. A shudder ran down her spine.
“I won’t go anywhere as long as you wish for me to stay. So please,” he urged. “Don’t hide your hurt either.”
The last of her composure cracked. And a torrent of tears followed.
Lumine crumpled in her seat, head clutched in her hand. A pitched, keening whine tore itself out of her throat, raw and broken — each sound ripping a fresh wound and plunging an unseen knife into the bard’s heart.
“He walked away…” she choked out. Her hair fell over her eyes, while her shoulders shook with the force of her ragged breaths. “I looked all over for him… and he walked away…”
Venti reached out. She took his hand wordlessly, her fingers shaking within his hold.
“A thousand years together, Venti,” she stuttered. The tears dripped onto the hem of her dress. “A thousand… And he says it doesn’t matter. He’d throw it all away for a nation I’ve never met.”
She folded on herself, unable to bear the weight of her own body. “He’d throw me away.”
Venti placed a hand on her shoulder. Pushing gently, he lifted her to meet his gaze. “Hey,” he breathed. “It’s not your fault.”
“It has to be!” she cried, her voice rising to a fever pitch. Venti felt the knife go deeper. “If I’d just saved him in time! If I’d just woken up sooner, found him quicker, just dropped everything and gone to him! If I hadn’t wasted time–!”
Her eyes bore into his, wet with tears and burning with grief. “All this happened because I was too weak to fight the unknown god back. And after I lost and woke up, I was too pathetic to not mind my own business.” The words broke on her tongue, and her voice cracked from the effort.
“This is what I deserve.” The words landed like ash, dull and scorched, and Venti’s jaw clenched in fury. “I was useless in battle. I was trash that failed him, a pathetic sister that didn’t save him in time, and this is my punishment–”
“No.” The words cracked like a whip, his voice almost shaking the walls of the domain. “Lumine, that is not true.”
“How could it not be?” she retorted, almost like she was daring him to disagree. Her fingers fought against his grip, and hot tears spilled onto the back of his hand.
“Look at me, Lumine,” he instructed. “Would you be able to live with yourself if you chose not to waste time? If you’d left Mondstadt and Liyue behind?”
“That’s…”
Venti did not back down. “Be honest.” He pressed his hand into her shoulder. “For I recall a starlit warrior months ago, who answered steadfast when let go. Who stayed despite her heart in pain, and lent her blade for Mondstadt’s name.”
Lumine trembled.
He held her gaze. “She stood before the mighty God of War, and called his test cruel above all. She never wavered in battle despite her search, and chose faith — even in the face of hurt. She’s the reason the winds still blow strong; why the earth, despite its age, can move on.”
“She’s a saviour of the innocent, the defender of the weak.” He squeezed her hand. “She honours hope despite loss, even while her home she seeks.”
Then, his tone softened. “A home she still loves with all her heart, made of shared starlit skies and sweet memories while miles apart.” His gaze bore back into hers. “A love that has kept her — her strength preserved, in spite of burdens and cruelty she does not deserve.”
A stray sob slipped out of her lips.
He pulled her to him, careful to keep his movements slow. She fell into his embrace with no resistance.
“You said it yourself, Lumine,” he whispered into her ear. “You won’t ignore those who are in need.”
She sniffled, wiping the tear stains on her cheeks. “You… heard that?”
“All that time ago, yes.” He pressed her into his chest. “You’re a kind, noble soul, Lumine. It’s unfair, even slanderous, to call that ‘not minding your own business’.”
“But…” her breath hitched. “But I should have found him sooner…”
“You found him only because of the work you did. If neither Mondstadt or Liyue’s crises were averted, you likely would not have managed to get any information to point you in the right direction. Dainsleif might not have heard of you to seek you out.”
“And…” Venti inhaled deeply. “You said you saw a sea of flames when your brother woke you up, didn’t you?”
Lumine nodded mutely.
“That nation’s fate was sealed long before you, or even I, could have influenced otherwise.” He steeled himself against the beginnings to that metaphysical block once more. “The fact that you were both hunted down, and that your brother has ended up as a champion for their cause… there is far more at play here.” He swallowed nervously. “Something that involves powers far above mine or even Morax’s own. It’s ridiculous to expect yourself to overcome something like that.”
The pressure built, compounding his pain, but he refused to let his voice shake even as he winced. “I’m sorry I cannot say more. But he chose this while you were recovering from your wounds. He made his choice independent of you.” He continued, his voice tight. “A refusal to waver as deep as his… does not calcify in a mere handful of months.”
“And forgive my impertinence here… but you woke up on the beach alone, didn’t you?” He exhaled slowly. “... He wasn’t the one to wake you?”
She nodded again.
“Then his choice has been one long in the making.” Venti intoned. “Ergo… it cannot be your fault. He hurt you, in one of the worst ways possible… but it wasn’t your fault.”
He pulled her further against him, cradling her head with his hand. He ran his fingers through her hair, letting the locks glide past his skin. “You are not useless,” he said. “You are not pathetic, you are not weak, and you are not trash. Nobody gets to call you that. I will not stand for it.”
She stayed in his hold, no reply forthcoming. Silent tears continued to pour out, soaking the front of his garment.
Then, after a long while, she moved. Her arms rose to wrap around his shoulders. “So…” She shivered, her words brittle. “... I was never meant to save him?”
“Perhaps not.” Her fingers curled into the hem of his shirt at his answer, his voice reverberating in her ears. “But that doesn’t mean you never will.”
He held her in the stillness that followed, his eyes tracking the movement of stars as she grieved into him.
Eventually, her sobs quieted, and the tremors in her frame dulled into exhaustion. He murmured into her ear, careful to keep his voice low. “Would you like to rest?”
She nodded into his shirt. Carefully, she rose to her feet, her arms looped around his neck and face buried into his shoulder all the while. She did not let go even as she reached the bed, and her eyes rose to his in a silent plea.
He answered with a gentle smile, slipping in next to her.
Venti drifted off to the tickle of her breath on his neck and the quiet, solid warmth of her beside him.
The days passed in relative silence.
Venti remained by Lumine’s side, an almost constant shadow as she recuperated. And true to her starborn nature, her physical injuries healed quickly — her bruises fading more and movements growing stronger as each new morning broke. He, too, found his strength steadily restored. Her wakefulness and the adeptal healing magics worked in tandem to ease the burning pain of corruption, until all that was left was a dull tiredness that a short nap at Windrise would easily fix.
Cloud Retainer merely clicked her beak at their progress. It was only logical; after all, they were resting within the finest of Liyue’s healing domains, and had taken the highest quality of adeptal medicines. Such a swift recovery was all but guaranteed.
Yet still the mighty crane expressed her concerns for their sleeping arrangements. After all, one of the heroes of Liyue and the longtime allies of Rex Lapis should be exercising better discretion, even as honoured guests of hers. She was more than capable of building another resting space fit for Lord Barbatos, so surely there was no need for such public displays. Venti — swallowing a mortified quip about how everything that’s happened between him and Lumine was anything but public — did his level best to explain that he was merely helping with her hurt; that whatever scandalous thing that was on the adeptus’ mind was absolutely not happening, so could she please let that go?
“It truly isn’t like that,” Venti protested, perhaps a little too quickly and breathlessly. Cloud Retainer merely cocked her head to the side, and Venti suddenly found the air around him far more interesting.
He shot the fairy that hovered next to the crane a pleading look.
Paimon, now far less frazzled and better rested, proved to be an unhelpful ally.
She backed his explanations up, withholding the full context behind the blonde warrior’s state out of respect for her friend’s privacy. But ultimately the fairy betrayed the bard to the crane with a small smirk. She proclaimed that the two honoured guests were caught in the other’s orbits, but remained denser than even the amber deposits that littered the mountains.
As Paimon cackled lightly at his expense while Cloud Retainer continued her nagging, he finally understood Lumine’s exasperation at Paimon’s concept of help.
Thus, when Paimon found herself blasted harmlessly off course by a suspiciously precise gust of air, Venti’s ears turned deaf to the indignant shrieking that followed.
He was the Tone-Deaf Bard after all.
But that was the world outside of the shared room.
Once within its walls, Venti’s shoulders inevitably softened and his movements slowed.
And without fail, his nights were spent in steady closeness — her breath warm against his collarbone, her fingers curled loosely against his side, her head tucked beneath his chin. A connection that grew increasingly deeper as time went on. Even when no words were exchanged between them, or through aimless conversations about everything else but the events that have transpired.
But even while his heart sang as her fingers sought his, and his chest stuttered as her head rested on his shoulder, something within him flickered with worry.
He’s seen grief in all its stages. He’s sung them, wept them, lived them; and worn each one like a cloak.
And thus, he knows its destructive power, and its ability to suck even the strongest under its waves, trapping hearts and minds in an endless loop. He knew all too well how easily it could drown a soul.
Nothing cemented that concern more than when he returned to the room after meeting with Morax early one morning; only to find Lumine tensed on the bed, her eyes blown wide open in mild panic.
“You…” she swallowed. “You weren’t here when I woke up.”
“I went to meet with Morax,” he explained gently, despite the fear gnawing at his gut. She hadn’t even left the mattress. “To keep him updated and thank him for helping us escape. He… sends his regards.”
“Oh.” Her eyes darted away. The hesitation and shame in her frame was painful to see. He reached out, enveloping her in a hug. His fear deepened as her arms wrapped around him, urgent and tight.
Still, he pulled her in, grounding her with wordless touch and a murmur of assurances into her hair. His words drifted over the shell of her ear, and he allowed her to calm herself at her own pace. Heat bloomed as she buried her face into his neck, and he shivered at the breathless inhale beneath his cheek as she took him in.
But he did not apologize.
For he knew deep within him that this couldn’t continue.
And she knew it too, for she never pressed him for one either.
Thus, when the day came that Cloud Retainer declared them both to be in a clean bill of health, Venti readied himself.
She moved slowly as she gathered herself. She thanked the adeptus for her generosity, though it was clear that her words — while formal and genuine — came off just a little stilted. The motions of picking up her sword, her pause as she stared at it as if she were measuring its weight in her hand, screamed of hesitance.
Each step out the room took great effort, and for Lumine it felt like she was peeling herself away to head towards the gallows. Venti moved with her quietly, only ever half a step behind her all the while.
Soon, she hovered at the edge of the mountain peak, her limbs heavy and lips drawn into a grim line.
“You need to continue your journey,” Venti stated plainly. There was only one way for her to find out about the circumstances that twisted her brother so, after all. And he had asked it of her, too. There was no avoiding the road ahead.
“I know,” she muttered. Her hair drifted softly in the winds, but her eyes remained dimmed. Nothing like the steel he’d seen in them when she first touched his statue all that time ago.
He continued. “I also need to return to Mondstadt.”
“... I know.”
She exhaled, her breath brittle and slow. The tension between them grew.
“I would love nothing more than to go with you.” Venti stepped closer. The edges of his cape brushed across her arm. “You know that, right?”
She nodded. Her shoulders slumped at his words.
“But you also know why I cannot, my duty to Mondstadt notwithstanding.”
For the last thing he would ever allow himself to do was to clip her wings, to let her tie her strength only to him.
She did not respond. Her eyes remained trained on the horizon, studying the lazy swirls of cloud and fog.
Then, after a long while, her gaze turned downwards.
“I don’t know if I can do this without you,” she admitted shamefully. Her posture dropped, and suddenly she seemed utterly small against the expanse of sky behind her. “I don’t know if I can face those nightmares alone anymore.” She hated how weak she must look in this moment — but even more, she hated that a part of her didn’t care.
“You won’t be alone.” He took her hand once more, careful to retain some distance between them. He needed to make sure she heard him, loud and clear. “You always have a little piece of me with you. The winds will carry the seeds no matter how far they must fly.”
“But they’re not the same.”
Her voice cracked as she turned to him; the wind catching the strands of her hair like they, too, didn’t want her to let go.
“They’re not you.”
His heart stuttered, breath caught in his throat. There was no mistaking the look in her eyes — wide, aching, and unguarded.
And for a moment, he almost stepped closer.
Instead, he leashed his heels. He settled for curling his fingers around hers tighter, their arms hanging loosely in the space between them.
“Then… how about this?” He reached forward with his free hand to caress the crystals on her dress once again.
“... May I?” He asked, more out of habit than actual hesitance.
Lumine shifted, wrapping her other hand around his. She stared at the contact, her brows drawn in concentration.
Then, slowly, she moved his hand upwards.
And pressed his open palm against her heart.
Venti’s eyes widened, darting to hers. His hand jerked in shock, trembling against her sternum.
She held his gaze shyly, flushing a deep red all the way to the tips of her ears. Her heart thundered beneath his touch.
“Uh…” His mind felt like it was short circuiting. Fire burned under his collar. “I… er…”
“... You don’t always need to ask, you know,” she muttered.
Then her flush deepened sharply, her eyes darting away in mortification.
Oh stars — those words had sounded way less insane in her head.
“R-right,” he choked out, his slackened jaw snapping shut with an audible click. “Pardon me.”
Real smooth, Barbatos. You’ve sung of things far worse than this.
“Uh, well, where was I?” he coughed, the sound all nerves and utterly devoid of his bardic shine. Lumine’s lips quirked upwards slightly — just as nervous, just as shaken — despite herself.
“Right. Um, I was about to offer this.” His fingers twitched restlessly, grazing the skin above the collar of her dress. He tried his damndest to stay focused, and not be taken by how absolutely soft her skin was, or how he could practically feel the breaths beneath her ribs.
The spark he’d offered months ago — a small, fluttering thing no larger than the wisp form he once took — flared to life within her.
Her eyes widened.
He inhaled deeply.
“I will not clip your wings, starlit knight and starborne heart,” he declared quietly. “But I will never let you feel alone. If you so desire, let this spark become proof of my promise to you.”
The spark flickered briefly, before it transformed. The little flash of teal that nestled in the space beside her heart grew, swelling and flaring into something more. Another tether, one to join the one of aetherial gold that she buried within herself.
And into that newfound link Venti nudged, ever gently, what had filled his heart all this while.
Lumine’s breath hitched.
She felt it all. The beauty he observed in her in the heat of battle, her hair flying and eyes sharper than the finest blades. The rushes he felt at the sight of the laughter in her smiles as she bickered with Paimon over a fire. The sting of knives as she crumpled before him, his heart shattering at the sight of dimmed starlight and celestial gold. The admiration of the steel within her, overlaid with a gentle exterior of compassion, unbroken even under the grief and burdens she carried. And beneath it all, the breathless, heady lilt of seeing her fly — unbound and free — on her own wings amidst an infinite sky; a joy underscored by melodious song and poetic dreams.
“You are strong, Lumine. Not just in enduring grief and betrayal, but in letting yourself feel and choosing compassion.” His fingers — still trembling, still reeling — straightened, allowing him to rest his palm fully against her. “Something that is not allowed to break… that’s just fragility dressed as steel.”
“Nothing should be allowed to stymie your true strength. Not even me,” he intoned.
His lips then turned upwards, and he let out a small, wry exhale. And Lumine felt it through the link too — the warmth in his wryness, the gentle deference in his smile. It was enough to nearly make her heart melt.
“But fear is fear, and even the strong need rest. So take this version of me with you, in place of the path I cannot walk.”
And then she felt another wave. A stutter, a flicker of shyness from him, in response to the heat building in her chest.
She blinked.
His smile widened.
And she understood.
“I’ll always be with you, Lumine. For nightmares or even boredom; and only ever at your call,” he breathed. He broke their contact reluctantly, his fingers reaching up to release the clasp on his cape.
A small gasp slipped out of her lips when she felt the soft fabric wrap around her shoulders. She shivered as his fingers brushed across her throat, his cape secured to her frame with a quiet click.
“So walk forth with your head high, my starbound knight.” He stepped back, teal orbs filled with adoration as he took in the sight of her in his colours. “And may the wind lead.”
For one long moment, she stared at him — her fingers trembling as they touched his cape, feeling the lingering warmth of his body seep into her fingertips. A soothing scent, his scent, filled her nostrils; a sweet, crisp mix of apples, wine, and wind.
Then finally, Lumine let out a breath, and allowed her lips to curl into a fuller smile.
“Okay…” she whispered, reaching out to embrace him. Venti, at last, let himself be pulled forward, his heart singing as she pressed herself into him. His eyes slid shut, and he savoured the scent of flowers and dew in her hair.
She nuzzled his shoulder, burying her nose into the crook of his neck. “Thank you.”
He hummed. Their link pulsed with gentle heat — low, simmering and full. “And thank you,” he murmured into her ear. “For choosing me.”
The winds danced around them in joy, throwing a flurry of leaves and petals into the air around them.
And then–
“Lord Barbatos! ”
The force of the indignation alone could have scattered clouds.
And Cloud Retainer descended on the pair, eyes flashing and power crackling in her wings.
“In all one’s years, one has never seen such blatant impropriety–!”
Venti jumped back, arms raised in defense against a face full of angry beak and three-thousand-year-old ruffled feathers. “Wait wait, it’s not what you think–”
“–to lay your hands on the chest of a distinguished lady!” The crane adeptus screeched, unheeding of the retreating Archon’s words. “To think, an Archon of your standing, undressing yourself so! To flagrantly disregard the decorum for courtship on the distinguished lands of Rex Lapis himself!” Her beak snapped at him in fury. “Does your youthful foolishness know no bounds?!”
Venti yelped as he ducked under a flared wing. Lumine folded on herself like a lawn chair in shame.
And Paimon flopped to the ground behind them all, howling in laughter.
“One has held back her comments till now, out of respect for your status as one of the Seven!” A complete lie, but one Venti knew better than to point out right now, lest he get clawed to pieces.
“But now one sees that that was clearly an error!” The elder adeptus stormed towards the bard, her feet gouging lines into the dirt. “Your youthful impertinence must be corrected at once!”
“I’m still fully clothed!” Venti cried in desperation. “I swear it’s just symbolic–!”
“AS ARE MOST MORTAL SEDUCTIONS!”
Deciding that dignity was the better part of valor, Venti exploded back into formless gusts. He swore as his winds narrowly avoided a blast of adeptal energy thrown through the air, which only served to heighten the crane adeptus’ ire.
Lumine growled as she snatched a still laughing Paimon up. She quickly dove off the cliffside, her glider snapping open to catch on harried, frantic winds. She was in no mood for any lectures — about decorum, courtship or otherwise.
They only managed to lose the enraged crane adeptus in flight through a combination of stupid techniques, inelegant misdirection, and sheer dumb luck.
Venti felt no remorse for rearranging Paimon’s hair through the currents in the process.
And Lumine made sure her hair stayed that way long after their escape.
Hours later, a lone bard swore out loud when a lance of Geo, mighty and unflinching, fell out of the sky with little warning while he nursed a bottle of cider under the quiet branches of Windrise.
He swore even louder when he saw just what was carved into the side of the stone that had so unceremoniously shattered his very quiet and very free-of-mortification peace. In infuriatingly tidy strokes, no less.
He sent an angry, relentless gust back into the clouds, the winds carrying a drunken but still coherent litany of curses, rebukes, and increasingly creative variations of “what the hell did I even do” — which may have included forming an entirely new pantheon just to curse the man out more effectively.
Zhongli frowned as the returning gust smacked him across the face while he sat at the stone table at Mount Aocang’s peak. The teacup in his grip rattled. Tea sloshed over the rim, spilling onto gloved hands.
Still, he mused as he sipped his tea, his ears besieged by Cloud Retainer’s long and fevered sermon about scandalous touch, flagrant impropriety and youthful fools abandoning traditional values for lust…
The wind’s contents were much more amusing to listen to.
Notes:
I had far too much fun writing archon shenanigans and the screeching auntie Cloud Retainer
Chapter 9: Splinters
Chapter Text
When she stepped off the deck of the Alcor onto the shores of Ritou, Lumine immediately tensed.
The sky overhead was overcast, plunged into unending darkness by what the locals described as a perpetual storm. Distant flashes of lightning lit up the otherwise shadowy expanse of greyed clouds, the only glimpses of light against the otherwise grim skyline.
People moved about the harbour town in hushed silence. Shoulders slumped forward, heads down, eyes focused on nothing but the ground before their feet. Nothing like the vibrantly colourful and noisy shores of Liyue Harbor; the town was as drab and dull as they came, the people carrying an air of downtrodden fear so palpable that it was hard not to choke on it.
Lumine drew in a sharp breath, Zhongli’s words echoing in her memory once more.
There hadn’t been time to stop – only the opportunity of transport offered through the Crux Clash, an unlikely opening she had seized before she could think better of it. She’d spent the entire voyage trying to temper her expectations. Surely, even with the glimpses through the scraps that Kazuha and Beidou shared, things in Inazuma could still be navigable.
Yet now, taking in the atmosphere for herself in person…
It was so, so much worse.
Not even the friendly face of Thoma coming to greet them could take the edge off.
Still, Lumine thought it wiser to remain tight-lipped, even in the face of Thoma’s disarming welcome and assurances of assistance to get them off the island. Her reputation was beginning to precede her — Kazuha’s interaction with her during the Crux Clash was telling enough.
With things as terrible as they looked here… she knew that her name would soon become currency. People would quickly come crawling out of the woodworks to get a piece of her.
Because when an oppressed populace suddenly gets news of the legendary Honorary Knight of Mondstadt and Hero of Liyue gracing their shores…
It was all but inevitable that she would get dragged into another crisis.
The thought alone pissed her off far more than she could describe.
She bore with Thoma’s requests for help with the International Trade Association with a guarded, but civil grace. It was only fair as a price for navigating an illegal escape to reach her goal of meeting the Electro Archon. But once he revealed that he was an attendant of the Kamisato Clan, Lumine immediately felt her hackles rise.
Still, the man had managed to orchestrate their escape, even if it was disguised as a test. And with news that Signora herself was likely manipulating events to keep her grounded in Ritou…
Images of Paimon trapped in ice frozen in terror, and of a homely bard crumpling in pain as dark claws sank into his chest flashed through her mind.
Well, she couldn’t just let the bitch win, could she?
Thus, she stepped through the doors of the Kamisato Clan’s grand estate with unease, her steps guided by a mix of resigned wariness, guarded tension; and petty, pointed spite.
“Please forgive my lack of courtesy for receiving you in this fashion.” A measured, formal voice drifted from behind a screen. The walls of the foyer were covered in clan symbols and artful decor — all signs of ceremonial importance and political gravitas. “Especially following such a long and wearisome journey over the sea.”
“Thoma tells me that you truly have the power to change the tide of the times...” Her tone was anticipatory, hopeful even – which only deepened the tightness in Lumine’s shoulders.
“Traveler, lend us your strength and–”
“I’m only here to meet the Raiden Shogun,” Lumine cut in, her tone brooking zero argument. “I have no intention of starting a rebellion.” She turned on her heel – she was not going to allow anything to derail her purpose. “If you do not intend to point me in the right direction, then I am leaving.”
Kamisato Ayaka blanched behind the paper screen. The quiet foyer echoed with the panicked rustle of cloth and the clatter of furniture knocked over.
“W-wait! Please! Don’t go!”
The words tore past the lady’s practiced formality, cracking into something dreadfully young… and terribly desperate.
Lumine swore under her breath as her steps slowed at the sound.
Not the sound of a cunning politician.
But the voice of a child.
Damn it.
“On my honour as the daughter of the Kamisato Clan, I will bring you to the Raiden Shogun…” she begged, her voice almost breathless. “But in return, I ask that you be willing to first fulfil three wishes of mine.”
Lumine narrowed her eyes. “Depends on what they are.”
“Merely to help three innocents who’ve had their Visions taken,” she continued, voice light, almost hopeful.
Lumine sighed, a world-weary sound. Her fists curled tightly.
“So your plan is to guilt-trip me into helping your cause. That it?”
Thoma stepped forward, placing himself between the blonde and the screen. “Your anger is understandable, Traveler, but please try to see it from our point of view.” He held his hands outwards in a placating gesture. “The Yashiro Commission handles mostly civilian affairs, and as a result we’ve had to witness the worst of the Vision Hunt Decree. Families destroyed, businesses devastated, children orphaned…”
“We do not take joy in dangling the plight of our countrymen before you. Nor do we take you for a fool, far from it. But this is our lived reality, and perhaps the only means by which we can ask for your help. We…”
His eyes darted away.
“We can’t act publicly, and we no longer have any other options. The people are on their last legs. We need your help.” He sighed.
“Help us, and we’ll help you — we’ve already helped you escape Ritou. And we’re not asking for you to take our word for it about it all. Meet these civilians, and see for yourself just why we are so desperate for this whole situation to end.”
“And what’s stopping me from finding help elsewhere?” Lumine countered.
“Technically, you can try the other branches.” Thoma tilted his head. “But the odds of them letting you reach the Shogun, let alone speak with her, are slim to none.”
He fixed his gaze on Lumine. “Ever since the Decree was announced, they’ve refused to let anyone outside their channels meet the Shogun, not even us. If they’ve shut their doors this tightly against their own people, they’re not likely to open them to you.”
Ayaka’s breath hitched from behind the screen. “Thoma, you can’t just–” Her voice wavered, caught between indignation and helplessness.
“I’m very sorry, my lady. But as I mentioned to you before, we’ve reached an impasse,” Thoma continued. “We cannot be so transparent with our pleas yet continue to dress them in diplomacy.” He turned to face Lumine fully. “The Traveler deserves that much, at least.”
“It isn’t the most elegant of offers,” he admitted, his head dipping slightly. “Nor the most honest. But it is all we can give. And right now… it may be all that’s available.”
Behind him, Ayaka sighed, long and hard.
Lumine stared at the attendant. He stood unyielding, though his gentle demeanour never once shifted. Briefly, the notion that this back-and-forth, this little show of deferential defiance could be an act, crossed her mind.
Her jaw clenched.
But the truth of the situation wasn’t just in his words. It was in the slumped shoulders of every person she walked past, in the hushed fear bleeding through empty markets devoid of laughter and play; and most tellingly, from the despairing whispers she’d heard drifting from the statue looming over the city.
Even if this was all dressed in an act, that truth had to count for something.
Finally, she relented.
“Fine, but only the three.” Lumine warned. “And only because your attendant decided to be honest.”
Ayaka remained quiet for a moment.
“... Understood, Traveler.”
Then, a little quieter:
“And thank you.”
Lumine did not spare the foyer a single glance as she walked away.
Lumine liked to consider herself a relatively moral person.
She would not leave those who were in need, that much was certain. She would not turn a blind-eye to suffering. And for the most part she respected authority, if only because it was easier to survive that way. Keep your head down, follow the rules, help where you can. A clean conscience and a clean exit. After all, as experience told her — it was far wiser to not stir the pot too much.
Of course, run-ins with the law were inevitable when you’d lived as long as she had. She was no stranger to navigating grey areas. But doing good was, if not right, then at least efficient.
That was before, well… everything.
And now, here she was, outright spitting in authority’s face by personally engaging in a prison break.
She sighed quietly as she crept through the dank prison halls, Yoimiya at her heels. The whimpers and maddened mutterings of the inmates echoed faintly. Even without getting close, it was easy to see who filled these cells — thin, haggard men who bore no signs of violence, lone women in haunted silence; and worst of all, children curled into corners, too afraid to cry.
She couldn’t ignore this. Not anymore.
Her brother would’ve smacked his forehead in theatrical horror. First at her flagrant violation of her own code… and then, probably, for not inviting him along.
Her heart ached. Tears pricked at her eyes. Only the brother in her memories would have thought so anymore.
Still, she wouldn’t let her heartbreak cost the mission. She was ass deep in enemy territory. It was hardly the time to fall apart.
And for all she hated Kamisato Ayaka’s angle in securing her help… Lumine had to admit it was effective. The people suffered terribly under the Decree. The three civilians she met were proof. This prison was just confirmation.
Even as her mission succeeded, the thought plagued her.
“You’re a good person, you know,” Yoimiya said breathlessly as they slipped into an alley, Masakatsu clutching her like a lifeline, blood dripping. The kind woman flashed her a bright smile.
Lumine didn’t answer.
Good people didn’t need to be told they were good.
And good people didn’t hate the ones who made them act – especially if they were right.
Her goodness had once served a purpose. Survival. Stability. A way to help the powerless, and walk away with her soul intact.
Then, when her brother was taken, kindness became a necessity. The best path to information. To hope. So what if it chewed her heart with each detour? So what if she had no sunny smile or golden laughter left to soften the weight?
It had all been for him.
To save him.
But now, with even that anchor gone, all that remained was the price of kindness – a hollowed heart and tired lungs.
What was she supposed to do? She couldn’t tell herself he needed rescuing anymore.
He didn’t even want her anymore.
And yet irony of ironies, here she was still, elbow-deep in another nation’s bloodied mess. All because she “needed to see the lies, rot, and filth” for herself.
His words. His request.
A goodbye dressed up as a mission. A final plea for her to understand , even after choosing to walk away. After asking her to not follow.
She swore in every language she knew. Her elder sibling was, even in the throes of betrayal, an infuriating, contradictory, and completely stubborn dumbass.
And as she rounded another bend — wind blurring her steps, earth steadying her footfalls, lightning sparking at her heels — she wondered:
What did that make her?
What did that make this?
This business of slinking through the streets, dodging a suspiciously sparse rotation of guards, adrenaline pounding through her veins as lightning, wind, and stone brimmed at her fingertips?
Devotion? Habit? Thrill-seeking?
Or just the last flickers of a moral compass she couldn’t turn off — one this place, and its cause, had already learned how to use against her?
She can’t even pretend that this was a smart thing to do anymore. Only that it was, however draining, the right one.
And stars, she hated how she still cared, even as she yanked Yoimiya and Masakatsu out of the way of a stray guard’s sight, her heart in her throat and Electro crackling across her limbs.
She had seen it alright. The lies. The filth.
The thin, broken men slumped in devastated homes and behind bars.
The women who sat hollow-eyed in the dark, mourning lost loved ones.
The children who didn’t dare play on the streets or cry anymore.
Bright, cheerful merchants like Yoimiya, people who made it their business to bring joy – branded illegals by the Visions on their hip.
And the very same carriers of such Visions like Kujou Sara, given free rein to brandish them proudly against others in service to the Shogun.
Well, mission accomplished, brother. Are you happy?
She shivered as she slipped back into Komore Teahouse, lungs raw from the frigid air. And something told her this was only the beginning.
For if he was willing to go to war with an entire world…
Surely there was more at play than just one more nation’s worth of suffering — past or present.
Still, her resentment burned. At the Shogun, certainly — because how could a being who called this a necessity and a mercy with no remorse be anything but monstrous? At Kamisato Ayaka, too, the young diplomat who despite her earnest desperation had hooked her on a bold faced lie of prettied words.
But more sharply, it burned at herself. For letting herself be dragged into another crisis. For answering a plea from someone who left her behind. For being unable to walk away even as her heart was fraying at the seams.
Because the trap wasn’t the decree. Or her sibling. Or even the gods.
The trap was her.
And she walked into it anyway.
She brushed past Thoma, uncaring that his concerned greeting fell away on deaf ears. He turned after her, only to have his arm pulled back by a silent Paimon.
Lumine shut the door to her borrowed room.
And slumped on the floor in the quiet.
The stillness pressed in, broken only by the flash of lightning flickering through the window screens and the distant, endless roll of thunder.
Her mind stormed, seemingly in tandem with the eternal one outside.
Tired, overwrought hands drifted to her chest.
Fingers brushed over the top of her dress, feeling the gentle tether of teal within. It lay nestled next to her heart, quiet and still.
It would be easy to pry that link open. To call him forth now to hold her in her pain. To ground her to the earth as her heart and mind stormed in opposing directions. To let herself fall headfirst into wind and song — if only for a moment — and lose herself in the heady, warming scent of apples and sun-kissed air.
To feel more than just the ache pressed into her shoulders.
To feel his smile, his breathless laughter, skim across her skin.
To feel warm, gentle hands run down her back and thread through her hair once more.
To forget the whole of today…
And pretend, for however long it might last, that tomorrow wouldn’t come.
Weak.
Her hand faltered.
And her heart sank.
… She couldn’t.
Not like this.
Wasn’t this what had sent that shadow of worry across his eyes? Wasn't this why she had forbidden herself from asking for an apology from him?
She’d been furious enough at others for crossing her lines. Still bitter that she’d let them.
She’d never forgive herself if she did it to him.
Exhaling slowly, Lumine dusted her dress off, drawing her legs beneath herself.
A thousand and more years of life meant that she, surely, was capable of some level of restraint. She wasn’t a child anymore.
Lumine let her eyes drift shut.
And focused on nothing else but the rhythm of her breaths and the dull rumble of thunder.
Her pain, her resentment, her exhaustion – it was all still there. That wasn’t going to change so quickly, even if she did let herself fall. In fact, waking back to them after that would only make them hurt far worse.
So for a long while, Lumine sat in meditative silence.
And breathed.
Celestial gold, now stronger, less smothered, pulsed faintly in tandem with her breaths.
Slowly, but surely, the thunder of her heart slowed. Adrenaline receded from her veins. The weight on her shoulders remained, though just a shade lighter. The pain in her chest ached still, though less immediate.
Quietly, she reached over, gathering a soft viridian cape into her arms. She threaded her fingers through the fabric, her eyes tracing every line and embroidered pattern in the cloth.
She held it to herself.
It still smelled faintly of him.
Shuddering, she turned her attention to the tether once more.
And reached inwards, carefully, slowly.
The little spark of teal fluttered to life at her touch.
Her hands trembled as she fought to keep her shaking breaths in check.
She focused, not on what she wanted from him, but on him. The happy-go-lucky bard that brought her comforting breeze and melodious song. The unwavering one who blurred into being before her, shielding her from blade and betrayal. The cheeky bastard who teased and led her on wild chases, who deserved a punch just as much as a hug.
Her mind turned to the flush that came from his adoration. The warmth that bloomed from his shyness. The spark of laughter in response to his blunders. The deep, yearning ache that flared — however mortifyingly — at his touch.
The pain of grief burned in her still – raw and unflinching. It was impossible to hide.
But she tempered it, held the bleeding fire back fiercely till it was a controlled, embered burn.
Or at least, she hoped it was.
Because even now, beneath all her effort, the fear remained.
That the grief might still be too much. That her restraint might crack at the seams the moment she reached out.
She hovered on the edge a moment longer, the silence of the room almost turning stifling.
Finally, with all the gentleness she could manage, she pushed the link open.
And sent her feelings through.
For one moment, she feared the reaction. Would he answer? Would his brows angle downward in disapproval?
Her heart thundered like a war-drum.
Then, a low, simmering warmth bled back – a little shy, a little tentative, a whisper of an awkward smile. The seconds ticked by, and the tiny ball of heat unfurled. Starting from the little place in her heart, ghosting across her neck, rising to the crown of her head and running down the length of her back like a featherlight touch.
She bit her lip.
And a gentle, trilling melody hummed in her ears, brushing up against the edges of her tightly held grief. It did not extinguish it, nor take it away.
But it reverently held the burning, trembling hands that wound around them, and cooled them with a windy, balmy breeze.
Tears fell, and Lumine clutched the worn cape to herself.
She fell asleep that night, Paimon’s hand in hers and the cape tucked around her shoulders.
Lumine would spend the next several days in a cycle of meditation. Both as a means of grounding herself as she rested, and only occasionally, to reach for the tether.
Paimon wasn’t fully convinced. She had opened her mouth, ready to prove to Lumine just what an understatement that was–
–only to yelp in offense as Lumine rearranged her hair again, the efforts far more pronounced thanks to a clever use of Electro.
Lumine surveyed her work with deep satisfaction. “There, now you’re a Super Saiyan.”
“What the heck does that even mean?!”
Taroumaru cocked his head in confusion as Lumine barreled out of her room, a screeching Paimon at her heels.
Yet as the fairy rained righteous fury down on the smirking blonde, she couldn’t ignore the bags under Lumine’s eyes, nor the way her smile didn’t quite reach her ears.
The sight was worrying, even as Paimon flailed her fists and Lumine batted them away playfully.
So when Lumine rose one morning with the cape draped over her shoulders, Paimon bit back her usual quip. Instead, she doubled down on making sure the blonde ate and rested, making full use of the teahouse’s comforts and Thoma’s daily offerings of local delicacies.
“I know we haven’t exactly made the best impression. Everything we do probably seems like we’re just trying to smooth things over,” Thoma said one morning, holding up a basket of hotpot ingredients — a clear peace offering. “But if you’ll allow it, I’d like to extend the full hospitality of the Kamisato Clan as thanks. However belated it might be.”
Paimon’s eyes lit up immediately.
She ignored Lumine’s muttered comment about “taking advantage.”
After all, she was doing this for her.
And if she happened to benefit a little, well… that was a welcome bonus.
Lumine snorted — a real one, this time — and the tension in her shoulders eased just enough as she sank into her seat.
Paimon allowed herself a quiet, victorious grin.
Thus the days passed, with them laying low and Thoma tending to them like a gracious host in between his duties with the Yashiro Commission. And with each visit, Lumine caught snippets of the Kamisato Clan’s fruitless attempts to review the Vision Hunt Decree. Of how mere mentions of its necessity in meetings were stonewalled into oblivion, and any hint of toning it down was met with hard vetoes from the other two branches.
Politics were hardly her concern, but it couldn’t hurt to stay informed.
Martial law, extortion, black markets, predatory business practices – these were not the hallmarks of a healthy governing body.
Something within the Commissions was rotting.
Then, enough time passed that Thoma grew concerned about the possibility of cabin fever. Ever apologetic, he opened the topic, gently advising caution. A successful mission didn’t mean an all-clear, especially with the Tenryou Commission preparing for a public ceremony. Best, he said, to let things blow over before making their next move.
But, as he came to realise, he need not have worried.
“I mean, where would we even go?” Paimon asked. “It’s not like there’s anywhere open to visit– er, no offense, of course.”
Thoma laughed then, his mirth light and breezy. “None taken.”
Time that Lumine didn’t spend in the silence of her room was spent observing the attendant. He held himself with a genial, laid-back air and a sunny disposition that never seemed to dim despite his numerous errands. A far cry from the few downtrodden yet formal locals she’d interacted with.
That brand of easy-going breeziness felt familiar, though she could not pinpoint why. And it was rather telling, that he maintained that air even when it seemed that no one was watching. It was always the same gentle cheer, while he dusted the tables of the teahouse in silence or even while he moved about the kitchen with practiced ease.
Then she woke up one morning to the sound of laughter mixed with barking. Lumine spied the Pyro user overrun by a pile of dogs in the teahouse garden, Taroumaru growling in indignation as the dirty canines — a pack of scrappy strays that must’ve slipped in — ran in happy circles all over the man.
“Guess we know who’s the boss today,” Paimon chuckled beside her.
Lumine snorted. “Don’t let Taroumaru hear that.”
“Too late,” the fairy said, watching the Shiba glare indignantly at Thoma. “You think he’s jealous?”
“Maybe he thinks he’s being replaced,” Lumine deadpanned.
And for once, the laugh that followed from her didn’t sound like it was borrowed from someone else.
Lumine allowed herself to lower her hackles a little more after that.
But of course, reality would soon come knocking.
And it came in the form of frantic thuds at the door of her room early one morning.
Lumine staggered to her feet as she chased the sleep from her eyes, the cape falling over her shoulders. Paimon groaned as she turned over to her side. A quick glance confirmed that dawn had barely broken, and only the first traces of light were filtering through the windows. What could possibly–?
She tensed at the sight of Kamisato Ayaka as she slid the door open, the girl’s eyes widened in alarm and shoulders heaving from exertion.
Lumine snapped to wakefulness immediately.
“Traveler–”
“What’s happened?”
“Have you seen Thoma?” Her voice quivered.
“Has he not returned to you?”
“No.” She gulped. “Yesterday, I received news that the purpose of the Tenryou Commission's ceremony was to celebrate the hundredth Vision seized. I hadn’t thought much of it…”
Her fists clenched. “Then Thoma didn’t show up at our agreed meeting place this morning.”
Lumine felt her stomach twist.
“I came here to look for him, but if neither you or Taroumaru has seen him– ”
“What?!” Paimon yelped from behind her, shooting up from her pillow. “Don’t tell me–!”
Ayaka’s fear was palpable now.
“They intend to make a public example of him.” Her shoulders trembled as her hands jumped to the hilt of her sword. “Because the Shogun herself will be present.” Her Cryo Vision, once hidden under layers of robe and silk, flared brightly.
“Excuse me, Traveler.” Her voice was tight as she stepped back. “I must make haste.”
But before she could storm out, Taroumaru leapt in front of the door with a bark as sharp as thunder, claws screeching across wood as he planted his paws firmly and locked eyes with Ayaka.
“Move Taroumaru!”
Taroumaru growled, the sound rumbling and low, and shook his head violently in response.
She faltered. “What are you–?”
“Wait, maybe it’s not such a great idea for you to go!” Paimon cried as she zipped over in a hurry.
Ayaka rounded on her, Vision blazing and all traces of formality gone. “He is my friend! I have to save him!”
“But you’re also the face of the Yashiro Commission!” Paimon retorted. “The whole reason you’ve needed our help is because you couldn’t move publicly! If you go charging in now won’t all your efforts and ours just go to waste?”
“But I cannot let that happen to him!” she cried, frost creeping along her white-knuckled grip. “He–” Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes, her mind torn between care and duty, seared by guilt. “Not him!”
Lumine watched her, limbs stiff and mind running a mile a minute.
On one hand, if she opened her mouth right now, it would cost her greatly. It would mean throwing away whatever hope she had for meeting the Electro Archon on peaceful terms. And even if her brother wasn’t in immediate danger anymore, she needed to know more about this world, and what the hell happened five hundred years ago.
If not to fulfill his ridiculous request, then at least to beat some goddamn sense back into him.
There was no chance she’d get information about any of that once she publicly opposed a god.
Yet, in this moment, as Ayaka trembled within the walls of the teahouse, her breaths sharp and teeth clenched, Lumine saw herself. In the rage brimming under helpless heartbreak. And the readiness to tear the world apart for someone slipping away.
She exhaled mightily, frustration burning.
This was no longer an act.
The girl in front of her wasn’t a dignified envoy or a perfect political heir, just someone on the verge of breaking.
And honestly? This plan to meet the Shogun — being moved around like a pawn, bound to a list of potentially never-ending favours only others understood — could that even be called a plan?
With things falling apart now, she wasn’t even sure that list existed anymore.
Bile rising and decision made, she drew her sword with grim finality.
“I’ll go.” The words came soft but firm, steel dressed in frayed silk.
Ayaka glanced at her, her gaze sharp but uncertain.
“I’m the one that put him in danger. I cannot possibly ask you to–”
“Paimon’s right,” Lumine cut in. And given how Ayaka tensed in answer, still rooted where she stood instead of tearing past the doors in a hail of ice and frost, she knew it too.
“Besides, it's not like you’re out of options.” She turned to regard the girl fully, palming her blade in her hand. “Even if we aren’t friends… Thoma has been kind to us. It’s the least we can do.”
Ayaka shuddered, her eyes downcast in shame. “Then I beg you, Traveler, please save him. I swear I will do everything in my power to honour our agreement.”
Lumine answered with a curt nod, storming out the doors and taking to the air in a flash of wind and lightning.
It wasn’t hard to find him. The platform beneath the looming statue was practically bursting with solemn pomp and ominous spectacle. Important figures, each dressed to the nines in ceremonial garb and ritual armour, took station before the giant stone carving with a mask of stoic stillness. Not to mention the cityfolk surrounding it all; a dense crowd packed into the plaza in stunned, hushed silence — unwilling, cowed witnesses to the Shogun’s unyielding campaign.
Guards shoved Thoma downwards, his head thrown low and knees slamming hard into the wood. His wrists struggled uselessly against thick rope. His pleas, shaking and breathless, fell on deaf ears.
And before him, standing tall and mighty with an air far colder and stonier than even the massive statue, was the Raiden Shogun herself.
Behind her — unnoticed by all — a tall man draped in the symbols of the Kamisato Clan dug his fingers into his palms, face pale yet unable to do more than watch in helpless silence.
The Shogun stretched out her hand, and Thoma’s Vision ripped off his belt. It sailed through the air towards the statue, weightless, mocking — as if it didn’t carry with it the weight of purpose and grounding sanity.
Thoma let out a final, desperate scream—
And Lumine struck the ground as a meteor wreathed in storm and lightning.
Winds howled, thunder boomed and the earth beneath the wood shuddered. Guards were blown back, civilians dropped to the ground in shock, and even the stoic commissioners blanched in alarm.
The Traveler glared the Shogun down, hair crackling with power, a gleaming Pyro Vision clutched in her hand.
The Raiden Shogun blinked, unfazed. Piercing eyes of the deepest violet bore into gold in stillness. Assessing. Calculating. Yet, somehow, utterly devoid of life outside of the dangerous glint of lightning.
“An outsider,” she intoned flatly. No surprise, no curiosity, nothing. Only the cold, stony monotone of rationality, bordering on robotic. “Capable of wielding elements without a Vision.”
No one moved. Not even the nearest guards, despite weapons poised and ready.
Lumine tensed. That was not a good sign.
The Shogun continued, her shoulders inhumanely still, reading off the various crimes of the blonde’s existence like an itemized list. “You are an exception, it seems.”
Lightning flashed behind her eyes. “And exceptions… are the enemy of eternity.”
Thunder crashed, and with a single swipe, reality itself split open — ripping Lumine away from the world and into something colder, older, and infinitely more aware.
She was now trapped, alone, in a completely different plane. Before her, the embodiment of lightning stared her down, an ornate blade of thunder incarnate aimed at her neck.
A single bead of sweat trailed down Lumine’s back.
That was all the warning she got.
She whipped her blade up in defense, her eyes barely able to register the movement – only for pain to bloom as a thunderstrike sent her ragdolling through the air. Steel shrieked in her grip as her lungs seized, the force of the blow rattling through her bones.
Coils of Anemo erupted beneath her.
She shot forward. Her skin glowed with amber, her frame turning harder than stone. Lightning sparked down the length of her blade. She swung down, a hammer-blow of elemental fury.
It did nothing.
The god met her attack as an unmoving storm, stopping her blade mid-swing like a solid wall of thunder. Not even the deafening shriek from where their weapons met was enough to faze her.
Celestial starlight blazed as Lumine snarled, and for a fleeting heartbeat, the Shogun’s weapon was pushed back by a hair’s breadth.
She raised a single brow, the barest trace of intrigue flickering underneath stillness as she glanced at her divine blade. “Exceptional,” she hummed, head tilting ever so slightly. Violet eyes flicked briefly to Lumine’s core, introspective, almost curious.
Lumine growled. It could be her starlight, the tether, or even that ugly seal stamped over her powers. Whichever it was, the Shogun did not like it.
For a moment, the god’s stony expression flickered. A frown creased her brow, as if what she saw made no sense.
Then her gaze sharpened.
And the weight of divinity slammed down like a guillotine. “There is much to verify about you.”
Lumine was flung off her feet once more.
It was not a battle. It could hardly be called a fight. Not when every blow was met with unbending will, and deflected with forceful grace. The divine blade flowed through the air, fluid yet precise, in a way that could only come from centuries of experience.
And all the while, the Shogun kept her eyes on Lumine’s. Each clash of steel furrowed the Electro God’s brows more; each rush of wind, groan of earth and crackle of lightning further sharpened the Archon’s gaze.
It quickly dawned on the blonde what this was: a study. An assessment.
And one that was quickly wrapping up.
With a desperate roar, Lumine lunged forward one more time.
Blinding lightning flashed, swallowing her vision.
Pain flooded her senses, her muscles on fire, locked in violent spasms. Teeth ground dangerously as she crashed heavily into solid ground. The otherworldly plane shattered like glass around her, daylight and crowd gasps flooding painfully back into focus.
The gathered Inazuman populace stared, shocked into terrified awe, witnessing the formidable blonde warrior reduced effortlessly to a broken heap within a single thunderclap. And still, even in defeat, blood-slick fingers refused to release the Pyro Vision in her grip.
Above her, the Shogun’s cold voice droned pitilessly:
“You will be inlaid in this statue.”
Paimon clutched Lumine’s bloodied shoulder, arms shaking and face whiter than a sheet. “I-I won’t let you!”
“Then join her.”
Thoma wasted no time.
Clenching his teeth, he caught the glint of a nearby spear, unguarded in its owner’s stunned hands. One swift movement, and the rope at his wrist split cleanly. He pivoted, kicked the weapon into his grip, and hurled it straight at the Shogun’s face with everything he had.
The Shogun glanced up. Lightning consumed it in a blink — effortless, inevitable.
But that was all Thoma needed.
He lunged forward in the moment, scooping Lumine into his arms. Flames blazed to life around him, walls of solid Pyro roaring outwards to slam the guards away.
Pain burned. Blood smeared into his garments.
He fled, an inferno at his heels, a broken warrior in his arms.
The Shogun turned. “Do not let them escape.”
The plaza erupted into chaos. Amid the frightened clamour and the stampede of panicked bodies, people moved.
Quiet rebels, those whose Visions had not yet been taken, whose ambitions remained theirs, slipped through the confusion unseen.
A flicker of flame burst near the square’s edge, turning heads.
Sparks of Electro danced across a fuse, setting off a hidden crate of fireworks.
Frost chilled the guards’ feet, slowing pursuit.
Water sloshed upwards, impossibly, over stone steps as barrels tipped in the crush.
The tiles cracked in a low tremor, halting boots mid-stride.
Wind surged in a blinding gust, scattering dust and smoke through the plaza.
Thoma ran like a bat out of hell, arms burning and heart heavier than his steps. He sent a silent thanks to every person who covered his escape, and a breathless prayer to every possible god for their safety.
He just hoped that the right one would hear it.
When Lumine awoke, it was once more to the sight of an unfamiliar ceiling.
No — branches. Densely packed, silhouetted against a bruised, darkened sky.
She groaned as she heaved herself upright. Grass tickled her skin. Paimon was curled tightly against her, snoring faintly. The air smelled of smoke and earth, and fireflies drifted like ghosts through the trees. A quick glance at herself confirmed what the tight, heated feeling around her body was — a host of bandages covering what must have been a seriously extensive set of burns.
“Hey, hey, easy,” Thoma cautioned softly as he knelt beside her. His face was shadowed by the flicker of the campfire. “Your friend just finished changing those bandages not too long ago.”
Well, that explained why Paimon smelled of medicinal herbs, at least. Though, where had those come from? She cradled her pounding head — she could figure that out later.
“Where are we?” she asked groggily.
“In Chinju Forest. I ran as far as I could… but I had to stop.”
Memory slammed into her. She stiffened. “Are you alright?”
He returned with a tired grin. “Far better than I could have been, all thanks to you.” He patted his Pyro Vision, now hanging safely on his hip.
That was when the firelight reached his face. And her eyes fell on the marks on his wrists, and the map of bruises painted across the length of his jaw.
Her gut twisted. A slow, sick heat curled in her chest.
“Bastards,” she muttered.
“Some of those guards used to greet me by name.” Thoma shook his head, mouth turning downwards. “I’ve helped some of them out too.”
He stared into the fire. “Guess that’s just one more reason why this whole thing needs to end.”
Lumine sighed heavily. “So what, we’re fugitives now?”
Thoma said nothing, only shrugging his shoulders in resigned quiet.
Damn it all.
First it was a mad dragon in Mondstadt. Then an angry hydra in Liyue after her suspected deicide. And now she had the wonderful god of Inazuma herself out for her blood.
Lumine cursed. She had somehow managed a divine bounty hat trick within just a little over a year after waking up. Only four more nations and she could hang the full set in her kitchen.
“Somewhere out there,” she muttered, “I swear someone is laughing at me.”
Thoma chuckled softly. “Yeah… not how I imagined my day going either.”
“How’d they get you?”
“Oh, the classic: ‘please come help me fix a problem,’ followed by a back alley, a sack over my head, and a generous serving of the ‘Tenryou Special’.”
Lumine didn’t laugh.
He shifted, voice lower now. “It even came with complimentary make-up, too, courtesy of the butt of my own spear. Got to look good for the ceremony, after all.”
The firelight flickered in his eyes — tired, bloodshot, strained… and still, somehow steady.
“You’re taking this surprisingly well,” she pointed out.
“Not by choice, believe me.” He gave a mirthless chuckle, expression turning slightly ashen.
“But I just threw a spear at the Almighty Raiden Shogun’s face in broad daylight… and lived.” A shudder rippled through him. Even in the dim light she could see the tremor in his arms.
“So I’ll take the silver lining where I can.”
She sat back in the quiet.
Because truly, she couldn’t argue with that.
A twig snapped loudly.
Lumine’s hand scrambled for her blade, but Thoma was already ahead of her.
He tensed, fists clenched and Vision blazing as he scanned the trees.
Only for the tension to drain out of him with a sigh.
“My lady,” he sighed.
Ayaka stepped gingerly out of the underbrush. Her ceremonial armor and lush raiments were nowhere to be seen; instead she wore muted robes, her signature pale hair hidden under a dark head sash and a simple blade on her waist. For all intents and purposes, she looked not like the distinguished leader of a noble clan, but a thief in the night — albeit a relatively well-to-do one, judging by the sheen of silk that caught the flame’s light.
“Thoma.” Her shoulders sagged in relief. “Thank the gods, you’re alright.”
“What are you doing out here?” He frowned. “It’s dangerous.”
She stepped closer. “I needed to make sure you were safe. That you both were okay.”
“We are, all thanks to the young master’s foresight,” he answered, gesturing to the bandages on Lumine.
“Never thought I’d be the one on the receiving end of a midnight visit from the Shuumatsuban…” Thoma huffed, glancing toward the fire as Ayaka shifted uncomfortably. “But I’m glad that he thought ahead.”
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice watery. Her hands hovered in the space before his bruised jaw. “It’s my fault. If I haven’t had you running those tasks–”
He knelt before her, silencing her words with quiet resolve. “With all respect, my lady… that’s not how it is.”
“My Vision was never a secret, everyone knew I had one long before the Decree. And while it does not bode well that they’re turning on members of the Tri-Commission now… it also makes sense that they came after me.”
He smiled wryly. “After all, I had allegedly aided in the illegal escape of a foreigner from Ritou — right under my Master’s nose.”
The reply only made the lines in her face deepen. “Still, I was the one who put you in those crosshairs. If only–”
“My lady,” he admonished gently. “It would not do well to dwell on what-ifs. You and the young master are safe for now, and that’s all that matters.”
Ayaka lowered her head glumly, her voice barely above a whisper. “... you matter too, you know.”
Lumine looked away, an uncomfortable sense of deja-vu creeping over old wounds.
Thoma coughed, but straightened quickly. “In any case, my lady, you shouldn’t stay here. We’re expecting Sayu to return with word soon.”
“I took her message,” she answered. “She’s been sent ahead instead to prepare your escape.”
“Escape?” Thoma blinked in surprise. “To where?”
Ayaka’s expression turned wan. “Fort Fujitou.”
Thoma stiffened.
“Is… that bad?” Lumine interjected, wincing even as the words left her. It was stupid and extremely callous, but she was tired of laying there like a voyeur. “Because that sounds bad.”
Ayaka jumped slightly at her voice, but otherwise caught herself quickly. “It’s the last reported location of the Resistance General,” she answered. “Though officially… we aren’t supposed to know that.”
“They’re not going to take kindly to seeing me.” Thoma shuddered. “I’d be lucky if I only get captured on arrival.”
“But if you stay here, you’d be dead.” Ayaka’s already pale face turned ghostly. “The Shogunate has already issued a nation-wide manhunt for the two of you.”
The words slapped Lumine across the face.
She wanted to curse. To scream. To rage, because this was precisely what she wanted to avoid.
But there was no strength left to fuel that fire.
Lumine slumped back onto the grass, too tired to even protest.
Ayaka hung her head. “I know that there is nothing I can say that will make this better.” She knelt down on the grass, and lowered her forehead to the dirt. “But I am deeply sorry.”
Lumine did not respond.
“But if I go,” Thoma asked quietly, “who will protect you both?”
“We will handle ourselves,” Ayaka said firmly. “You can resume your duties when this blows over. But until then, you need to survive.”
Carefully, she turned and reached through the bushes, dragging a pack from where it had been hidden, along with a single spear. She pushed them toward Thoma. “Rest until Sayu returns. She’ll guide you to Amakane Beach. There’s a boat there that will sail you to one of the supply ships headed for Tatarasuna. According to Nii-san, that ship’s captain owes us a favor.”
“But we’d still have to cross Nazuchi Beach,” Thoma said, blanching. “That’s no-man’s land.”
Ayaka winced. “This is the part I really don’t like.”
Thoma sighed heavily. “What did the young master say?”
“One of the Tenryou Commission’s soldiers stationed at Tatarasuna, Takasaka Izumi, is a double agent,” Ayaka replied grimly. “He will take you both as prisoners to be escorted towards a forward post along Musoujin Gorge. After that… you’ll just have to make a run for it.”
Thoma’s eyes widened in alarm. “But — how can we possibly trust someone from the Tenryou Commission?”
“It’s that, or get slaughtered here,” Ayaka said quietly. “The Tenryou and Kanjou Commissions have been waiting for a chance like this. Not even Nii-san can stop the Shogunate from searching our lands now.”
For a moment, neither spoke.
“... Okay,” Thoma murmured, his breath tremulous. “Okay.”
They sat unmoving for a while, the silence broken only by the crackling fire and the distant shrill of crickets.
After what felt like an eternity, Thoma finally spoke. “My lady… you really should not linger. Please return to the estate.”
Ayaka rose slowly, regret bleeding through her movements. “Stay safe, both of you. And Thoma–” She affixed him with an almost pleading stare. “Please come back.”
He answered with a small, pained smile. “I’ll do my best, my lady.”
She turned, about to disappear into the forest.
“Kamisato-san.”
She paused.
Lumine pushed herself upright with a sigh. Her eyes – tired, resigned – moved from the supply pack, to the spear in Thoma’s hand, then finally to Ayaka.
Ayaka swallowed thickly.
“... Thank you,” Lumine said, after a long pause. “Regardless.”
Ayaka gave a shaky nod, her relief visible in the tension she exhaled, though she didn’t quite manage to smile. “I swear, I’ll still do what I can from here.”
And with that, she vanished into the underbrush, leaving only fireflies behind to witness it all.
Chapter 10: War and Delusion
Notes:
This is the part of the story quest that has gotten a massive rewrite. I hope you enjoy it!
Chapter Text
Their escape was a blur of sweat, salt and strain.
From maddening back-and-forths between cautious creeping and adrenaline-fueled sprints, to huddling under salt-slicked cargo with hearts in their throats — the fear of discovery was omnipresent. Each leg of the journey proved more harrowing than the last, their lives in the hands of those whose loyalties hung in the balance.
And there was no way, if ever, to know which way the scales would tip at any given time.
Lumine knew she could tear her way out of immediate trouble, if it came to that. The problem wasn’t the skirmish, it was what came after.
She could technically go on the run. She certainly had the unpleasant experience of doing so.
But without her natural wings, and no clue how to bribe or bludgeon her way off the island… where could she even go? Short of swimming through a storm to the next continent, there would be little hope of escape.
Not to mention that her dumbass brother and his goddamn Order were probably lurking around here too, waging war from the shadows. Could she really let herself not investigate?
Furthermore, even if she had the gall to walk away from it all…
She couldn’t possibly inflict the full fugitive’s life on Paimon.
All the while, the little tether of teal lay quiet within her.
She didn’t dare open the link.
This was her mess. She couldn’t possibly ask anything of him.
Besides, if he ever did come to her rescue, it might just spark an international incident.
She couldn’t do that to him. Or to Mondstadt.
Thus Lumine grit her teeth and soldiered on, settling for the warmth of the cape over her shoulders to tide her through.
For if she was feeling the heat, then Thoma was enduring an inferno — because she wasn’t the one with roots, friends and a home to lose.
Still, the man held fast. Steady, even as his world tilted sideways.
He was loyal too. Always looking out for her back, always just half a step beside.
Circumstance might have made sticking close the smarter choice, but actions under fire made all the difference between a fair-weather friend and a fire-forged companion. Thus, when they finally located Takasaka Izumi at the outskirts of Tatarasuna, she and Thoma pressed on with a terse, shared nod.
One more leg of this godforsaken journey.
And just maybe, if the universe held off from shitting on her plate again, they’d be — if only technically — home-free.
They walked flanked by Tenryou soldiers, hands bound behind them — a necessary part of the ruse. Every nerve in Lumine’s body buzzed with adrenaline. Paimon hid in rigid, tremulous silence within the supply pack among the soldier’s own cargo. Thoma walked stiffly beside her, his Vision hidden under his clothes, his jaw clenched. The whole group moved in silence, past a landscape littered with broken weapons, blackened seagrass, and stretches of blood-soaked sand.
There was no way to tell who in the retinue was a loyalist. They certainly weren’t going to take Takasaka’s word for it.
He glanced at her. She glanced back.
They would unleash hell if even so much as a crab sneezed wrong.
Her eyes fell on the stony cliffs ahead, where the beach ended. White smoke climbed into the sky, along with the distant sounds of people — a camp.
Their hand-off point. As in, the “get your hands free” and “run off like hell” point.
Takasaka hadn’t exactly been detailed, or encouraging, for the matter. Thoma and her simply exchanged a shared look of muted resignation.
They drew closer to the cliffs. Thoma inhaled deeply. Lumine’s fingers tightened.
Then:
“In the name of the Resistance, let them go!”
She almost tripped over her own feet.
Their escort quickly fell apart in the confusion, with only half of the soldiers actually drawing their weapons to mount a response. The other half of their entourage — at Takasaka’s unspoken signal — made a hasty retreat. Not a single one looked back.
She and Thoma broke free of their restraints in a flash of fire and harsh winds. Paimon darted out of the pack, zipping away from the reach of harm.
The newly abandoned, completely startled, and utterly outflanked Tenryou loyalists never stood a chance — not even against the motley band of Resistance fighters who dove into the fray in a messy, uncoordinated charge. Steel flashed, flames roared and sparks flew.
Eventually, not a single loyalist remained as witness. Lumine turned away from the aftermath, surveying the space where Takasaka just was in silence. Thoma’s gaze lingered on the fallen bodies, an unreadable expression on his face.
As the stunned Resistance soldiers gave each other reassuring pats on the back, neither Lumine nor Thoma felt inclined to share in their relief.
“Are… are you both alright?” A wide-eyed soldier stumbled up to them. He was clad in a mishmash of actual armour alongside improvised pieces, and the blade in his hand had clearly seen better days. His dark hair was matted with sweat and blood, and his shoulders heaved from exertion. Despite that, the unguardedness in his features and concern in his voice read as genuine — and for a single, disturbing moment it struck Lumine just how young the lad looked.
Even Thoma, distracted as he was, paled slightly when he regarded the young man who stood half a head shorter than him.
“We’re alright,” she replied, a little hesitant. “And, um… thanks.”
“You’re Vision wielders.” The young lad stared at them in awe. “The tipoff we got mentioned only ‘useful cargo’. Why didn’t they say–?”
“Teppei!” Another soldier barked. “What did we just say about running your mouth?”
Teppei blanched. “R-right! Sorry!”
An older man in a more seasoned set of armour walked over. “Surrender all your weapons and come with us,” he said, voice gruff. The spear in his hand shifted slightly.
“It’s protocol and–” he paused as his eyes fell on the embers that spread about them. Small, lingering tongues of flame licked at his boots. The other soldiers shifted uncomfortably, casting uncertain glances between one another. The older man coughed lightly. “And um, it would be best if you cooperated.”
Thoma raised his hands, palms open. “We’ll come.”
The man motioned to follow, and they went in silence. No one spoke as they crossed the gorge’s waters, leaving the towering pillars of camp smoke and unforgiving cliffsides for another.
And soon, Fort Fujitou came into view.
The place looked less like a true fort and more of a makeshift camp built atop the stepped sides of a hill. Barricades that resembled upturned boats and carts thrown together, watchtowers that seemed to be made more of recycled wood than true lumber. Barracks and messes that were more tents than structures, and a central building that was likely a merchant’s warehouse repurposed for the war effort. Soldiers of varying ages trained in an improvised ring, with only a handful at a glance truly showing some level of skill and form in their movements. Weapons that looked more battered than dangerous.
Lumine shook her head. No wonder the Decree had been able to steamroll ahead.
Yet strangely enough, as they were led deeper into the area, there were conflicting signs. A large number of supply carts stood by, full and waiting to be unloaded. Logisticians complaining of a backlog of cargo and personnel that needed to be sorted. The aroma of spices that floated out of the mess tents. And the undercurrent of hopeful chatter, military jingoes mixed with a fevered hope of finally turning the tides.
She frowned. Something wasn’t quite adding up.
They were brought to a small hut, the soldier’s spears still poised and on hand. While Lumine and Paimon were led to a dusty corner, Thoma was quickly taken aside into an iron cell. The sounds of clinking metal and rattling chains quickly came.
“Wait, hold on–!” Paimon protested.
“You two will wait for inspection,” the older man said curtly, stopping Paimon mid-flight. “Once your identities have been verified, then we will figure out what to do with you.” He turned to Thoma, who offered no resistance. “As for him, we already know who he is.”
“I guess my reputation has preceded me then,” Thoma said carefully. Shackles and chains closed around his arms and feet with a cold, unfeeling click.
“Unfortunately for you,” came the reply. “There isn’t anyone who doesn’t recognise the Yashiro Commission’s foreigner.”
Lumine narrowed her eyes. “And the fact that he helped you dismantle those Tenryou soldiers and complied with your instructions all the way here isn’t enough?”
The man snorted. “Be happy we’re not confiscating his Vision. Though,” he jostled Thoma briefly. “I will remind you that not even you can burn through all this metal without harming yourself.”
Thoma said nothing, but his jaw tightened when the gate to his cell creaked shut. The hut plunged into an uneasy silence.
Hours passed, with only the low droning of an active camp providing any indication of time’s passage. There was the occasional changing of the guardsmen within the hut, but otherwise Lumine sat quietly with Paimon at her side, while Thoma did his best to make himself comfortable in the iron cell several meters away.
Then, after a third set of guards had taken up station, Lumine felt the atmosphere outside change. The low murmur of soldiers outside shifted. Feet shuffled, voices hushed. Somewhere, a barked command cut through the remaining din like a blade.
Lumine straightened on instinct. Someone important was coming.
The doors creaked open.
“General Gorou,” a guard greeted in salute, stepping aside. The General entered with a crisp, practiced gait. His ears flicked, his tail twitching as sharp eyes swept the room with soldier’s precision. Armour — seasoned and well-fitted — gleamed under firelight, and a Geo Vision glinted at his back.
“Greetings,” he offered, voice youthful but tempered by command. The scars that ran down the length of his arm merely solidified the presence he carried himself with.
His eyes landed on Lumine, and something in his posture shifted.
“It really is you,” he murmured. “I saw the sketches. They didn’t do you justice.”
Lumine quirked an eyebrow. “Thanks… I think. So, any reason why I’m meeting with the general of the Resistance in a holding cell?”
Gorou didn’t flinch.
“We received word about your arrival. Your actions in the city have drawn attention from both enemies… and allies.”
Before she could respond, the guards beside her straightened even further. The air grew heavier, coming down with something less familiar. It was tense, yes — but it more resembled reverence rather than dread. A deep, palpable sense of deference and respect permeated the room.
Quietly, Gorou turned back to the doorway.
“Lady Sangonomiya.”
A second figure stepped into the hut, draped in softer hues and gentler angles. The ceremonial robes she donned were no less austere than armour, even if they came in silks and embroidered fabrics. Her expression was composed, warm, even — but there was no mistaking the weight behind her gaze.
“A pleasure to meet you,” she said, her tone as tranquil as the sea before a storm. It was polite, but not impersonal.
“Your Excellency,” Gorou bowed sharply. “I present the Traveler, and the Yashiro Commission’s attendant, Thoma.”
“I am aware,” she murmured, her gaze settling on Thoma’s chained posture, her brow furrowing ever so slightly. Then her eyes met Lumine’s. Gentle, but also assessing.
Lumine returned with the driest stare she could manage.
“For someone who willingly challenged the Shogun in public…” the priestess hummed. “You’re not quite what I expected.”
Paimon crossed her arms. “What, were you expecting her to glow?”
Kokomi offered a soft smile, but otherwise did not answer. She stepped closer to Thoma’s cell, her expression thoughtful. “As for you, Yashiro Commission or not… I’m told you let yourself be held in the fort in chains.”
“Because the alternative was letting her go alone,” Thoma answered evenly, jerking his chin toward Lumine. “And I’m not exactly spoiled for options myself.”
Kokomi hummed quietly. “Loyal and considerate. Not quite the air of a man discarded.”
Her gaze turned assessing. “I suppose Kamisato tradition demands even disgrace be carried like duty.”
Thoma’s jaw tightened, but he did not answer.
Lumine shifted, her voice tight. “We’ve done nothing but comply. And your welcome committee still stuck him in a cage.”
“I know,” Kokomi replied, her voice lowering. “And I do not take it lightly. But I have hundreds of lives to consider, not just yours. I cannot ignore the possibility that your arrival might be another ploy.”
She turned fully to Lumine. “I’m not here to antagonize you. But I cannot extend full trust simply because your story precedes you.”
“Then why are you here?” Lumine asked.
“Because,” Kokomi said with quiet conviction, “you are the first person since the start of this war who has challenged the Shogun directly, and lived. I want to understand who you are, not just what you can do.”
Lumine narrowed her eyes. “Your bedside manner could use some work then.”
Kokomi chuckled under her breath. “Yes, well. I’ll make sure your accommodations reflect our gratitude from here on.”
“That still doesn’t explain what you want.”
To Lumine’s surprise, Kokomi’s smile returned. “Perhaps you’ll find it more palatable if I ask rather than demand. And to show that, how about we move our discussion to somewhere less dreary?”
“I’m not going anywhere.” Lumine met Kokomi’s smile with a glare. “Whatever you need to say in front of me, surely you can say in front of him. After all, we’re both wanted for dead — that seems rather equalizing in my eyes.”
The guards stiffened, and even Gorou’s otherwise neutral expression shifted into one of clear disapproval.
Thoma sighed audibly. “Traveler…”
Gorou shifted, ostensibly to chastise Lumine for her outburst, but he was stopped by a raised hand.
“It seems that you would prefer your companion to be held on equal standing as you. Would you say that is correct?” Kokomi asked simply.
“Depends on what equal standing means. If it means chucking me in a cage as well…” Lumine shot the surrounding guards a dirty look. “Then whatever you ‘want to know about me’ can go out the window.”
Gorou bristled, the hairs on his ears spiking. “Now see here–”
“General.” Her voice was calm, but her gaze had sharpened. “Take your guardsmen and let us speak in private.”
“But, Lady–”
“It will be fine, Gorou.” Kokomi assured him.
The look she got in return made it clear that the dog-eared General didn’t fully believe her, but he bit his tongue. Turning stiffly on his heel, he marched the remaining guards out of the hut. Lumine watched the door swing shut with detached interest.
“So, are you ready to cut the fluff?” Lumine turned her attention back to the priestess. “Out with it. What do you want from me?”
Kokomi remained unfazed. “Not quite what I would call it,” she answered diplomatically. “But certainly, let us speak more plainly.”
“By now, you must be aware that your — and by extension, Thoma-san’s — deed has spread across the whole of Inazuma. And this is on top of your exploits in Mondstadt and Liyue.”
Paimon shot the priestess a nervous glance. “You’re remarkably well-informed,” she muttered.
Lumine huffed, the sound hollow even to her. “Of course. Why else would you willingly harbour a bunch of highly wanted fugitives on such short notice?”
“Then you must also know the status you now hold. The Mussou Isshin has long been a symbol of the Raiden Shogun’s unshakeable might. And ever since the Vision Hunt Decree began, an instrument of terror.” Kokomi explained. “The fact that you stood against it and survived has lit a fire under the Resistance and anyone who opposes the Decree.”
“So you want me as your glorified poster child,” Lumine said.
Kokomi dipped her head. “You would be a tremendous morale boost to our troops, yes. But it would be even better if we could have you as a true partner in our operations. Our forces haven’t exactly fared well throughout this war.”
Lumine raised a brow. “And yet, I smell quality spices in the air and hear your quartermasters crying about an overflow of supplies.”
“Observant.” The priestess hummed, her gaze flickering briefly. “Sponsorship has indeed found its way to us. But that makes our situation all the more urgent. All the resources in the world would mean nothing if they aren't put to use swiftly, and well. And your arrival presents us with a crucial opportunity.”
“Which is why I’ve come to offer an accord.” Kokomi stated, a solemn weight to her words. “You’ve clearly had a difficult journey to get here. You’ve already endured things most people would have fallen to.”
Lumine crossed her arms. “Get to the point.”
Kokomi curled her lips into a small, if wry, smile. “Come under our banner. Assist our troops in their training. Secure our lifelines.”
“And in return, we offer you shelter. You won’t be deployed to the frontlines to limit your exposure to the Shogunate’s forces. You will be given a roof over your head and warm food daily. Our quartermasters will be open to you. And once this war is over… you’ll have your freedom and name restored.
Lumine jutted her chin. “And Thoma?”
“He will be afforded the same. Though, for security reasons, I cannot allow him to leave the camp.”
Lumine huffed. “So just a bigger prison, surrounded by people who don’t trust him.”
“I won’t sugar coat it. But he will be free of chains and shackles, just like you. And if my understanding of him isn’t misplaced…” Kokomi turned to Thoma, a knowing glint to her gaze. “I suspect he will manage to integrate himself all the same. He is the famous ‘fixer’, isn’t he?”
A deep, boiling pressure built in Lumine’s chest. She inhaled deeply, her jaw tightening.
That biting, awful feeling of walking right into another trap was impossible to ignore.
But what choice did she truly have?
“Fine.” The word tasted equal parts ash, acid and bile. “Fine.”
But if she was going to sink deeper into the depths of oblivion, she was not going to go quietly. She glared at the fair-haired priestess. “But know that I’m doing this only to secure our survival — don’t expect me to be your shining beacon.”
Her next words came out with far more bite.
“And don’t pretend for a moment that you’re not using me. I’m only your blade, and nothing else. So spare me the platitudes.”
Sangonomiya Kokomi simply nodded, a serene smile gracing her features.
“Then we look forward to working with you, Traveler.”
By the time doors of the central building swung open to reveal the Divine Priestess, Gorou had nearly worn a hole through the wooden floors from his pacing.
His ears perked up, alert. Lamplight flickered across his face, casting the browns of his hair and fur into deeper shadow.
“Your Excellency!”
He strode over to the priestess, eyes scanning hers with a worried glint. Behind him, a table strewn with maps and various scrolls rustled from the mild draft. “Did it work?” he asked. “Have we gotten the Traveler’s cooperation?”
“We have.” The sigh that the General released was loud enough to bounce off the walls. Kokomi chuckled lightly at the relieved swish of his tail. “Though, I would assign her away from the frontlines for now. We cannot risk an immediate reveal of her presence to the Shogunate just yet — much as they wish to crush us, they’d surely want her and Thoma-san’s heads more.”
“Understood.” Gorou moved back to the table and retrieved a report. “The newly arrived supplies are being integrated as quickly as we can…” He handed the parchment over, which Kokomi studied in silence. “But we still need a little more time before they’re ready for distribution to other areas.”
She nodded. “Keep at it. The sooner we can get everything distributed, the better. And with that, the Traveler’s might will certainly prove useful. Which company is currently assigned to secure the Reisei route?”
“I have Swordfish II on that, though I’m still trying to reshuffle people around to get a solid headcount.” Gorou winced. “The last skirmish against the ronin across this side of the gorge did not end well for them. These outlaws are getting bolder, more aggressive.”
Kokomi grinned. “Then I think we have the perfect fit for our newest member.”
Gorou snapped his head towards her. “Is that wise? She doesn't seem very cooperative, and we need Swordfish II up and running fast.”
“I wouldn’t worry too much,” Kokomi hummed, laying a finger on her chin. “Didn’t you notice it?”
Gorou tilted his head, right ear angling. “Other than her standoffishness, combative tone and false name?”
The priestess chuckled lightly. “She is verbally heated, I won’t deny it. And honestly, concealing her identity is a wise choice given everything. But recall what your men said. She wasn’t exactly thrilled when she ran into Gobius Platoon, and she clearly hated us for detaining her companion. Yet, she complied.”
“Well, she is in the middle of a camp,” Gorou countered. “She likely thought twice.”
Kokomi shook her head. “Sometimes, as Vision wielders we forget how much more martial prowess we hold over ordinary folk. Given the reports from the city, she apparently wielded multiple elements against the Shogun.”
Gorou nearly choked on his breath. “Multiple–!”
“Best we keep that as a need-to-know for now.” Kokomi placed a finger over her mouth. “But yes, I wouldn’t imagine someone that capable and wholly angered would need to think twice.”
Gorou mulled her words over in concentration.
“It is natural for her to challenge authority after what she’s been through. In fact, we practically ensured that she was given the chance for it.”
Understanding bloomed on the General’s face. “And she chose to bargain for her ally first.” He quickly jotted down a note onto a spare piece of paper. “I’ll ensure they both get a decent space to rest.”
Kokomi nodded in agreement. “Be subtle about it.” Her hands drifted over the stacks of parchment, her eyes scanning their contents quickly. “That she challenged the Shogun simply to save a life, Tri-Commission or not… she clearly has a decent heart. And a good head on her shoulders. Just on the walk from the entrance to detainment, and she already noticed the uptick in our provisions.”
Gorou looked at the report in his hand. “... I will introduce her to them first thing tomorrow.”
“And once we secure Reisei…” Weariness flashed behind otherwise determined eyes. “We can finally have a chance once more.”
“We can do this, Your Excellency,” Gorou intoned solemnly. His gaze burned with determination. “We will get our home back.”
She smiled at him, tired but hopeful. “We will.”
Night fell over the camp, and the din of activity simmered down into a dull drone. Thoma lowered himself onto his bed with a groan, feeling the pull of overtaxed muscles and stressed joints. The lodgings were hardly the most comfortable, but after days of sleeping on grass or worse, in the bowels of an ever-swaying cargo ship, the Pyro user was glad to simply have a bedroll on his back, stable ground under his feet and a roof over his head.
He took in his surroundings. Young soldiers milled about him, taking care of nightly ablutions and resting. Some had already fallen asleep. A handful were suiting up for night patrol.
Thoma let out a small sigh of relief. At least it seemed like he wasn’t bunking near any older folk, or important appointment holders. They were the ones who would probably be less forgiving of his status as a Yashiro Commission member, or as a foreigner.
He ran a hand through his hair, observing the messy ginger strands against the dim firelight. The only keepsake from his mother. The very thing that made him forever an outsider, even though he has been here for well over a decade. Long enough to become a well-known ‘fixer’... and to be now branded as a traitor to the Archon.
His thoughts drifted to the estate. He supposed that his lady was still pouring over reports right now, a worried haze over her shoulders. And the young master was probably busy as well, alongside pretending to not keep an eye on his sister. Thoma sighed — they may claim to be very different from one another, but they clearly shared a penchant for ignoring proper sleep schedules.
Silently, he sent a prayer to whatever god he could think of. For their safety, to escape the Shogun’s gaze for as long as possible. For their health, since the tumultuous times they were in did not seem likely to let up anytime soon. And lastly, for their plans to work, for it was the only way for him to see them again.
He sighed as his awareness returned to his surroundings. Fatigue burned at the corners of his eyes.
A trail of green and white fluttered at the edges of his vision. He sat straighter.
In the distance, through the opening of the sleeping quarters, he spied a lone figure clad in a now-familiar white dress, the green cape draped over her shoulders. She walked toward the fire in the center of the square, a distant, lonely air to her movements. Her little fairy friend was nowhere to be seen.
Thoma rose from his bed. Passing soldiers glanced in his direction, but otherwise did not spare him a second thought. People were always moving about in a camp, after all.
He went towards her, his steps light, but deliberate. A gentle scrape of boots on dirt, a loose pebble rattling under his feet.
They’d both been on edge long enough. Best not to give each other a heart attack.
“Hey,” he greeted softly.
She mumbled back. “Hey.”
Her eyes remained glued to the fire. As if she were searching the embers themselves for an answer.
He searched his mind for something to say.
“Thank you, back there. For fighting for me.” He maintained a respectful distance as he spoke. Somehow, there was a lingering fragility in her shoulders even as she stood stock still before the flames, her mouth set in a grim line. “I was fully expecting to be eating dirt the whole night.”
“I mean, it was hardly fair,” she muttered. “You’ve been through enough.”
“Considering my status…” Thoma chuckled airily, rubbing his neck. “You could have gotten dragged down along with me. So again,” he dipped his head low. “Thank you.”
Gold eyes glanced back at him. “Well, someone needs to go home in one piece. Your lady is clearly… waiting for you.”
He felt an uncomfortable heat spread under his collar. “Ah, erm. It… it isn’t really quite like that.”
The Traveler shrugged, turning her attention back to the flames. “Doesn’t really matter either way. Care is care… and that’s rare these days.”
Thoma studied her intently, watching the shadows flicker across her frame. Crackling embers and the non-stop buzz of insects surrounded them.
“Then, what about you?” he asked quietly. “You deserve to go home too.”
The blonde scoffed, though not at him. The sound was hollow and frayed, like a piece of threadbare cloth. Her unspoken meaning was clear, and it twisted the Pyro user’s gut painfully.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured weakly, looking away. “I… I didn’t know.”
Come to think of it, there was a lot about the Traveler that he didn’t know.
For someone who had risked everything to save him… she hadn’t shared a single thing about herself.
Not even her name.
He’d heard some talk about the Honorary Knight of Mondstadt through the young master’s channels. He knew the deeds of the Hero of Liyue from Beidou.
But why was someone like that even pushing to come into Inazuma? What could possibly make someone brave all this just to meet the Shogun? And what had given them cause to abandon it all, just to save him?
She still kept her eyes on the fire. “It was a long time–” Fingers tightened around the cape. Fabric creased under her grip. “... some time ago.”
Thoma stood still, watching the patrols pass.
“There are people who still care for you,” he said after a long pause. “I haven’t known either of you for long… but it’s clear Paimon cares for you deeply.”
“She does.”
Then why were her fingers still crushing the cape in a deathgrip?
Worse, why didn’t she look comforted by either act?
Thoma shifted slightly, unsure of what to say. His eyes drifted to the cape, the thing that she had both handled like precious treasure and worn like hardened armour throughout since they first met. He observed the patterns that framed its edges. Something about it tugged at his senses, like trying to recall a scene from a half-remembered dream.
“Your cape…”
Her eyes snapped to his, fingers releasing the cloth instantly.
“I’m not trying to pry.” He threw his hands up at the hunted glint in her gaze. “Just… it looks rather familiar.”
Her hackles lowered, her brow raised in mild uncertainty. “You… know this?”
“Not exactly.” His reply, for some reason, seemed to make the edges around her soften slightly. “But I think I’ve seen this style of patterns before. In my childhood.”
“I see.” She rocked on her heels, looking hesitant. Tired hands moved to clasp one another behind her back.
Then, after a pause:
“You spent time in Mondstadt in your childhood?”
“I was born there.” The answer made her eyes widen slightly. “But I didn’t get to spend much time there.”
“You moved here?”
Thoma smiled wryly, a sting of pain under his words. “Not quite. I came to Inazuma on my own many years ago, looking for my father.” He shrugged. “But I got shipwrecked on the way and… well, I’ve been stuck here ever since.”
The expression on her face was almost unreadable, save for the shadowed undercurrent of grief. He wasn’t sure he had seen her without it at all, since they first met in Ritou.
“... You too, huh?” she muttered cryptically.
He decided against asking about what that meant. It was never going to be anything good.
“That’s probably why the design felt so familiar.” His eyes drifted to the cape again, tracing the worn embroidery.
“It… looks important,” he said quietly. “Not just old. Personal.”
She shifted slightly, glancing away. Her fingers found their way back into the folds of the cloth.
“It is.”
He waited, but she didn’t elaborate. Still, something about the way she held it – close, like a lifeline, yet not possessive – made him venture further.
“Is it yours?”
A faint pause. Then, a gentle shake of her head.
“No.”
The admission was soft… but final.
Like it wasn’t up for further questions.
Thoma nodded slowly, taking a step back. But something about her silence ached.
“I really don’t mean to pry,” he offered sincerely. “I just… wanted to understand. Or be someone you could talk to.”
Gold eyes met his for the briefest moment. They weren’t cold, or even closed off. Just… distant. Worn.
“I… appreciate it. Really. But…” she sighed, curling the cape further around herself. “I don’t think I want to talk about any of it.”
“That’s okay. I know it’s not really any of my business,” he added lightly. “But you saved my life. I’m more than happy to lend an ear if you ever need it.”
“... Thanks.” She looked back at him, her gaze slightly less shuttered. “You’re no slouch yourself. You saved me too.”
“And already you’ve managed to listen to my backstory.” He smiled. “Guess that just means one more good deed done on your part.”
She huffed, the sound still guarded but now a little less caustic. He supposed it was better than nothing.
“Have you eaten, at least?” he asked. “And is Paimon alright?”
“Yes. And she’s asleep. ‘Best thing to do after a full belly’, so she says,” she said dryly.
“Well, then perhaps I should take a leaf out of her book.” He turned, giving her a final glance over his shoulder. “You have a good rest.”
She returned with a single nod before turning back to the light of the campfire. “You too.”
It would take a while for sleep to claim her tonight, thus she was better off staying here for a little while longer.
A distance away, under the shadows of a rustling tree, a lone fairy floated in the darkness. Paimon darted around in worry, double and even triple checking her surroundings.
It would be troublesome if she were caught. By the soldiers, certainly — because she was positive she didn’t have the vocabulary to explain what the hell she was doing without sounding either completely off her rocker or like a totally suspicious person.
But it would be far, far worse for her if she was caught by Lumine.
Especially given what she was about to do.
She hefted a bag of dandelion seeds into her arm, one hand reaching in to grab a fistful. She observed the near weightless things slip through her fingers.
After a final glance to confirm her safety, she turned her attention to the seeds.
“I don’t even know if this is going to work…” she grumbled softly. “Or how long it’s going to take.”
She wasn’t even certain it was possible for a cluster of dandelion seeds to cut through a perpetual storm the size of an ocean. Much less one summoned by a god that was actively trying to kill them all. It was entirely possible that the Omnipresent God of Inazuma would simply send down a bolt of lightning on her once she was done.
Yeah, best not to think about that.
Paimon steadied her breathing. Leaves rustled audibly overhead. “But if this reaches you, Tone-Deaf Bard…” Fingers tightened around the clump of seeds. “Lumi really needs you right now.”
“I wish I could tell you what’s wrong, but she’s not even willing to open up anymore,” she whispered sadly. “All I can see is her beating herself up over and over.”
“I don’t know what happened between you two, or if that even matters here. But if she keeps going like this…” Paimon swallowed thickly. “She’s going to hurt herself badly.”
“So please.” Her little hands trembled against the breeze. “Do something.”
With a final, breathless exhale, she blew the seeds into the air.
And watched in hushed, ashen silence as the winds cradled them and took them away on currents unseen.
She could only hope it would reach him before it was too late.
No matter how many worlds she’s seen, war never changed.
It was always the same destructive cycle, one that fed on hope, ran on blood, and burned people like fuel.
Not to mention its uncanny ability to warp one’s sense of time. Days could feel like weeks as they passed in absolute tedium between conflicts. And years could be compressed into hours in the heat of it.
Navigating war was just as much about managing that dreadfully disorienting balance between fear-tinged lulls and adrenaline-fueled peaks, as it was about good logistics and sound strategy.
And by all accounts, Lumine had to admit that Sangonomiya Kokomi knew what she was doing.
The ramshackle fort quickly gained new fortifications. More recruits gained fitted armour pieces. Weapons looked better cared for. Soldiers walked around with their heads higher, and steps surer. Bellies remained fuller for longer, and people left the mess looking more steadied than ever.
Even the chatter around camp was improving. Hushed voices talking about reclaiming contested ground and solidifying holds. Better outcomes of skirmishes, less total retreats. Shongunate forces actually getting pushed back, even utterly routed at times. Supply lines that were now much safer, and less treacherous.
Well, she mused grimly. That last one was her ‘contribution’, at least.
The members of Swordfish II were experienced, grizzled, and skillful soldiers. Each one was hardened by military life, loyal to their cause, and absolutely appalled at the state of their homeland. Sensible enough, for a special ops unit.
They were also a little… close-minded.
Not to the point of refusing to work with her. They were good soldiers first and foremost. But Lumine did not miss the skeptical looks they threw her way when Gorou had introduced her to them. Or the raised brows when General Gorou so graciously listed her many titles. Or the way their eyes constantly darted to her hair.
She wasn’t going to waste her breath convincing them.
So she let her blade do the talking.
By the time she’d helped clear out a band of ronin in a focused whirl of elements, the skepticism died down fast.
Missions went much smoother after that. And the lips of soldiers in an army camp, she discovered, were looser than those of a drunkard in a tavern – because not long after, even newcomers started looking at her differently.
Among them was one in particular she couldn’t seem to shake. And what made it worse was that he technically wasn’t even a newbie — just a youngling with a head stuffed full of hero worship and dreams of valour far too large for his shoulders to realistically carry.
“I heard you took out thirty ronin single-handedly!” Teppei beamed, practically bouncing on his heels as she passed the mess tent. “That’s incredible! You’re basically a legend at this point! I’m just glad I helped bring you here!”
The real number wasn’t anywhere close, and she certainly hadn’t been alone when it happened. Lumine shook her head and grunted noncommittally. It seemed like exaggeration was just another part of military life she’d have to get used to.
Paimon leaned over to whisper in her ear. “Looks like you have um… a bit of an adoring fan.”
Lumine pinched the bridge of her nose and groaned lightly.
She turned to leave, Paimon in tow, but the boy kept showing up. Always chipper. Always eager. And somehow never quite able to get around his two left feet.
Then she found out one day that he, too, had been assigned to Swordfish II.
Mainly as a logistician of the unit. But still.
Lumine raised her brows. Either the unit was desperate for numbers, or just so effective that it needed more hands to keep them supplied.
Paimon, in a bid to be encouraging, decided to bet her next meal on the latter.
Lumine snorted and warned her that the only thing less predictable than war was a squirrel with veins full of sugar and Naku weed.
Paimon guarded her subsequent bowls from the blonde after that.
“I look forward to learning from you!” Teppei saluted her. The startled looks he got meant that it was an outright violation of military protocol, but the shine in the lad’s eyes told her he either did not know… or did not care. “Senpai– er, can I call you senpai?”
“Do whatever you want.” She shrugged, turning away, her cape fluttering with finality.
But Teppei somehow still took that as an invitation. “Awesome! Then, um… could you teach me how to get a Vision, senpai?”
“Er, I don’t think that’s something that can be taught.” Paimon answered, throwing the lad a skeptical look. “Isn’t that supposed to be a blessing from the gods?”
“Then, maybe you could teach me how to get the gods’ attention!” he continued, voice never dipping. “I mean, you’ve already managed to get three on your side, surely–”
“Boy!” An older voice barked, though not unkindly. “Classified information, remember?”
Bewildered hands slammed his mouth shut. “R-right! Sorry!”
Lumine twitched. Oh, she had a surefire way to get a god’s attention: just attack one and live through the consequences.
But she held her tongue. She was tired, not cruel.
“How have you not learned since we first met?” Paimon asked worriedly, crossing her arms.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered dejectedly. “I just really want to be useful, you know? I want to do something for this war.”
Lumine turned to regard him sternly, eyes flashing. “War isn’t a game. This isn’t some competition for the highest kill count or something.”
His eyes widened, aghast. “I know that! I don’t mean it that way, it’s just…” His shoulders slumped. “I don’t want my home destroyed. And if I can be effective on the battlefield, it brings us one step closer to saving my home.”
“Then focus on your role,” Lumine said firmly. “Perform your tasks. Keep to your station. An army runs on its belly and its steel, not solely on ambition.”
A grizzled hand landed on Teppei’s shoulder. “I’d listen to your senpai if I were you, kiddo.” The man’s voice was low, measured. Yoshihisa, Lumine recalled his name being. “Seeing action is not a reward. If you’ve got the fortune to chase victory without blood… take it.”
“But–”
“Now now, I’m sure the Traveler is busy. If you’re still eager, then come along and we can work on your crappy form.” Yoshihisa threw an arm around the lad, tugging him aside.
Teppei scratched his head as he was pulled away, his brows pinched in consternation.
He probably wasn’t convinced.
Lumine sighed. Maybe time would teach him, but right now, she didn’t have the energy to worry about it.
Not when her instincts were nagging at her incessantly.
For even as morale climbed and victories were secured, something about it all felt… off.
Uncertain whispers about casualties getting silenced before commanding officers. A noticeable number of people in the medical tents. Soldiers coughing more, their movements sluggish. Fatigue — bone-deep as it was — cutting deeper even among the youngest and brightest.
War and violence aged people.
But not like this. Not this fast.
Lumine wasn’t an expert in human medicine, but even she could tell something wasn’t right.
Something was spreading. And no one was talking about it.
Not even Thoma, who had quietly made himself indispensable in the mess tent, could ignore it.
“I overheard some things,” he said quietly one evening, as the last of the soldiers trickled out. “Medical officers were here last night. Talking about an illness, something strange.”
“So we’re not just imagining it?” Paimon whispered. “You think they’re trying to hide it?”
Thoma nodded grimly. “Definitely. I only caught it because I came back after dark to clean up a few woks the crew forgot. They didn’t think anyone was listening.”
He glanced at Lumine, voice dropping further. “Don’t go asking around. They’re trying to keep it quiet for morale. You’ll just get burned.”
Lumine nodded, but didn’t reply. Her eyes stayed fixed on the flickering light in the distance, the campfire barely visible through the cracks of the tent.
However, it didn’t take long for the truth to come to light.
It had been another mission behind enemy lines, this time into more contested territory along the outskirts of Tatarasuna. Lumine grumbled as she settled into a small forward camp. Swordfish II had proven extremely effective, and so it was only sensible — and a matter of time — that they would be sent forward to the boundaries of Tenryou-controlled territory to bolster the Resistance’s efforts to carve a path.
Lumine settled near the fire, her hair tied beneath a dark cloth, her usual dress traded for muted layers. The cape lay folded beneath her bedroll, out of sight.
The wind stirred embers and dust. Moonlight pooled in silence. Swordfish II gathered around the flames, their voices low, their shoulders heavy with exhaustion.
Then the one next to her fell over with a scream, an arrow lodged into his back.
The camp exploded into motion.
Lumine blazed forward, her sword smashing a polearm aside. Ronin and Tenryou soldiers charged the camp with a roar, an unusual alliance that made her blood run cold. The air was quickly filled with the shriek of steel, screams of men and baying of war hounds.
Their location was supposed to be a tightly guarded secret.
So how?
But there was little time to think. Startled and caught on the backfoot, Lumine could only focus on survival.
Lumine whirled as she buried her blade into the shoulder of an enemy, lighting searing the wound. Winds surged, blasting a pair of snarling dogs from her back. The skin beneath her clothes glowed amber, ready to deflect the worst.
Then an arrow bounced off her temple with a painful metallic chink. She flinched.
And a horde of enemies descended on her.
She let out a panicked blast of lightning, to little avail. There were too many. The shocked ones crashed into her, their dead weight dragging her down. Her back slammed into the grass.
Her arms whipped up to cover her head, amber pulsing through her skin. Hounds tore at her ankles, sharp teeth locking onto flailing limbs. Blows rained down relentlessly, aimed with vicious precision. Her temples, her neck, each feral strike rattling through her frame. A blade glanced off her shield, metal clanging loudly in her ears. The butt of a spear cracked across her skull, the impact blurring her vision. A boot stomped down on her ribs, knocking air out of her lungs. A vicious kick caught her side, sending her sprawling across stone and dirt. Her Geo shimmered at every strike, catching metal and claw alike — but it didn’t stop the impact. It didn’t stop the pain. It only slowed it.
Bruises bloomed beneath the shield’s golden glow, deep and pulsing.
They weren’t just trying to kill her quickly, they were trying to break her.
And they knew that her shield would eventually buckle.
She heard the voices of the other members of Swordfish II, distant and struggling to reach her — too far, too slow.
Her vision swam. Her breath hitched.
Then, through the haze–
“SENPAI!”
Thunder boomed, and the sky was swallowed in a bright flash.
The hail of blows ceased, replaced by visceral screams of pain. Bodies fell limp around her, falling to the grass with heavy thuds. She felt the sharp grip of teeth around her legs loosen.
Lumine roared.
Shooting up from the ground in a mighty burst of wind, she smashed her shoulder into a nearby ronin. A feral scream tore from her lips as she snatched up his katana, burying it deep into his side. Another yell, and her knees cracked across a Tenyrou soldier’s gut, sending him tumbling into the waiting swords of her companions.
Teppei howled, dark lightning surging across his skin. He moved almost too fast to follow, each step crackling with unstable light, crashing into each stunned enemy like an electrified bullet. Terror surged among enemy ranks as Teppei’s manic cries and Lumine’s enraged curses filled the air. More bodies fell, and the remaining members of Swordfish II took the chance to turn the tide. The frayed unit roared back in defiance, their harried swings and incensed efforts swiftly overwhelming the panicked ambushers, who clearly only expected one Vision wielder among their ranks. Dogs yowled in pain, and horrified screams were cut off as the attackers broke rank.
Soon, the camp fell back into silence.
The last body hit the ground.
Teppei stood in the center, chest heaving, sparks still dancing across his skin.
Then, with a soft gasp, he crumpled
Lumine stumbled toward him, every step a fresh reminder of the bruises blooming under her skin. The adrenaline that had held her together drained fast, and pain rushed in to fill its place.
“D-did…” Teppei whimpered. Dark veins spread across his skin. Angry, red burns dotted his limbs. “Did we win?”
She would have answered, even with her throat raw from her shouting. But her eyes were glued to his hands, where blackened, bloodied fingers gripped a dark object.
“What the hell is that?” she snapped.
Teppei flinched slightly, a groan of pain escaping his lips. “It's…”
“Foolish boy!” Yoshihisa choked out, stumbling over as he knelt down. Blood streaked down his neck as he trembled. “What have you–!”
“B-but… I helped…” Teppei protested weakly, a hacking cough cutting off his breath.
“Damn it boy, I told you!” Yoshihisa seethed, torn between fury and pain. “I told you!”
“Someone tell me what’s going on!” Lumine barked.
“It’s…” Yoshihisa slumped. “Some kind of ‘secret weapon’ spreading through the camp… Young’uns claiming it makes them stronger, faster. Like a Vision.”
He looked down, jaw tight. “I warned him. Told him it was too good to be true.”
Her eyes snapped back to the object. Quickly, she shifted her sight.
And recoiled.
Where Visions glowed in harmony with the natural energies of this world, this thing flared like a jagged mix of harsh light and deep shadow. Twisted tendrils of violet ichor spiralled out from it, moving almost like sentient parasites seeking for a host.
Teppei, exhausted and moaning in pain, released the object. It rolled onto the grass, and a familiar grey symbol caught the moonlight.
A deep, boiling fire roared in her gut. Then, just as suddenly it vanished, replaced by an eerie, unnatural, and overwhelming calm.
“Where did this come from?”
“Hell if I know,” Yoshihisa muttered, breath ragged. “Word is, it started showing up among our new supplies. No orders. No explanation.”
He staggered to his feet with a wince. “We can dig into it later. Right now, we need to retreat and report back. The mission’s a bust, and we’ve got a security leak on our hands.”
“Agreed,” Lumine muttered, her voice distant.
Oh, she was going to do more than report.
She was going to rip the truth out from whoever had known.
Chapter 11: The Price
Notes:
Again, there are extensive rewrites to the story quest, essentially what I hoped the Inazuma quest could have been. I hope you find it enjoyable!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Fort Fujitou welcomed the battered remains of the legendary Swordfish II with muted horror and shaken silence.
There hadn’t been time to collect the dead. Those still able to stand had dragged the injured back through mud, sand and darkness. The junior medical staff paled at the bloodied veterans limping into their care — a mutilated, exhausted, flesh torn by blades and teeth alike.
It wasn’t a battle, some murmured to the medics.
It was savagery.
Then there was Teppei, now more ruin than man, his limp body heavy on the backs of others. He had clung desperately to life the entire way back, twitching limbs etched with a spiderweb of blackened veins and angry burns, each groan a gurgled tangle of breath and blood. But not even the presence of the medical tent could change the writing on the wall. Not when the jostling of his frame as they laid him on a cot failed to draw even a faint response.
It was enough to send the medics into a frenzy. Frantic murmurs of “matching symptoms” and “not another” passed between breaths like wildfire.
Her eyes narrowed.
Lumine slumped onto a chair, letting the medics patch her up in silence. Fresh bandages wrapped tightly around the patchwork of bruises and cracked skin. Her gaze never strayed from the limp form sprawled on the cot beside her.
Teppei’s eyes fluttered open, glassy and unfocused. Each rise of his chest came shallow and strained. Charred limbs had long since gone still.
Right now, he wasn’t a soldier. Nor an overeager recruit. Not even a chipper “junior.”
Just a boy.
A frightened, broken and burned child.
“... S-senpai…”
“Rest,” she murmured. It was all she could say, really.
“I… j-just wanted…” he rasped, voice barely able to climb above a hollow whisper. “T-to help…”
“I know.” Her fingers crumpled the edge of her dress. “You did.”
“Hush, boy,” Yoshihisa knelt beside him, his arm bound uselessly in a bloody sling. The lines on his face grew grim. “You’ve done enough.”
“I-I don’t w-want to–” Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes, mixing with dried blood. “C-cold…”
Yoshihisa laid a hand on Teppei’s head. “You will be okay, boy,” he murmured. “You’ll be okay.”
“M-mom…”
“I will tell her how you saved us all, kiddo.” Yoshihisa bit the inside of his cheek. “Your village will know you as a hero. So rest, boy. You did good.”
Teppei rasped, his breath catching on the next inhale.
It did not return.
Lumine stared, the hollow echo of that final breath rattling in her ears. The din of the triage tent dissolved into an unnatural haze of static and numbness.
Yoshihisa sank to his knees, the weight of the world bowing his bruised shoulders. Slowly, a calloused hand reached up to rest over the boy’s lifeless eyes.
“... Curse this whole goddamned war,” he rasped.
Lumine sat still, the world dimming at the edges of her vision.
She did not move.
Not when the boy’s eyes were gently shut.
Not when the medics pulled a sheet over him.
Not even when Yoshihisa’s shoulders began to shake in silence, his curses dissolving behind tears.
Only when the blood on her hands dried to a crackled crust…
…did she rise once more.
Now more bandage than skin and walking with a limp, she didn’t wait for permission. She didn’t ask for clearance. She left the tent and stormed into the central command building, slamming open the doors with a crack that made soldiers flinch. Boots thudded across creaking floorboards. Heads turned. No one stopped her, the embodiment of elemental might storming past them all.
At the war table, General Gorou and the Divine Priestess stood deep in discussion, maps and intelligence scattered between them.
Gorou’s ears twitched at her approach. He stepped forward. “You’re not supposed to–”
Her fist crashed down loudly on the table.
Wood cracked. Maps crumpled. And there, at the center, the cursed object glinted under the lanternlight — black, pulsing, and foul.
“Explain,” she seethed.
Kokomi’s eyes fell on the object. First confusion. Then recognition. Then alarm.
Lumine saw it, and snarled.
“Wait, what–?” Gorou’s gaze darted between the object and her. “Why do you–?”
“General,” Kokomi said evenly. “Have your men leave the building.”
“What?”
“What we are about to discuss is heavily classified.”
Gorou blinked in confusion. “But, Your Excellency–”
“Now, Gorou.”
Knowing better than to argue, Gorou complied. Within moments, the busy war room cleared out, leaving no one but the three principal occupants.
Silence hung heavy.
Kokomi was the first to break it. “Allow me to explain.”
“Oh, you’d better,” Lumine growled, her voice low and dangerous. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’ve been letting the Fatui kill your men.”
Kokomi exhaled slowly. “We accepted sponsorship from a donor. Rations, steel, medicine. But when we realized the supplies were getting routed through multiple intermediaries, we grew suspicious. That’s when we traced it back to the Fatui.”
Gorou turned sharply to her, eyes wide. Lumine’s glare sharpened into something lethal.
“But,” Kokomi continued, lifting a hand before either could speak. Her gaze lingered on the object, cold and glowing.
“These Delusions, as our intel calls them, were never part of the deal. We screened what we could,” she sighed, “but our efforts clearly weren’t enough.”
“So why didn’t you stop there?” Lumine spat, venom curling in her voice. “Or were you just hoping that the same organization that’s destabilised two nations would suddenly grow a conscience?!”
“It was that or starvation,” Kokomi countered, her voice chilling. “The Shogunate had taken to siege tactics before you arrived — our supply lines were strangled, our people starving. We barely had enough to keep our soldiers kitted for survival, much less combat.”
She leveled a hard stare. “You saw it when you first stepped through our doors. The disrepair. The state our soldiers were in.”
Lumine said nothing. She had seen it.
Her gut argued that it still didn’t make it right.
But then, in the face of powerlessness, starvation and death… what did?
“It was a risk taken in desperation… and I concede, not one without consequences. Even now, the Shogunate haven’t abandoned their siege.” Kokomi exhaled heavily. Fatigue flickered behind her eyes. “But hindsight is perfect. And wars aren’t won through hindsight.”
“Your hindsight just killed a child.”
The priestess did not waver. “And without it, it would have killed more.”
For a long moment, neither woman moved. But in the end, it was Kokomi who spoke first once again.
“We’ve already declared a ban on the use of Delusions after your deployment. We’re now trying to determine who’s been letting them slip through.”
“Before all that,” Gorou interjected breathlessly, turning to Lumine. “Why are you back here? What happened with Swordfish II?”
“We were ambushed when bunkering down at Point Hook,” Lumine answered, her eyes never leaving Kokomi. “Tenryou soldiers and ronin. Working together.”
Gorou’s ears flattened, his fur bristling. “What?! Report. Now!” He snapped, his tone brooking no argument.
Lumine relayed all that she remembered. Of the ambush at nightfall, of the brutality of the attack, of the tactics used against her. Of the decimation of their unit, culminating in the ill-fated appearance of the Delusion on the desk.
“Then they didn’t just know the location,” Gorou muttered. “They knew you were there, even undercover.”
Kokomi pinched the bridge of her nose. “So on top of smuggling… we have a mole in our midst.”
Lumine’s voice sharpened. “If you’re going to accuse Thoma–”
Kokomi raised a brow. “I wasn’t.”
She continued, her tone calm. “Much as it would seem sensible to point a finger at him… it doesn’t hold up.”
“First, from how you described it, they were far too prepared. The target was clearly you. That alone rules him out.”
She looked Lumine in the eye. “His background may be politically inconvenient, but he’s proven transparent in his time with us. And frankly, even if we don’t see eye to eye, I trust your judgment. You wouldn’t sabotage yourself by placing faith in someone unreliable.”
Lumine’s shoulders eased by a fraction.
“Second, the tactics employed don’t match what we know of the Shogunate,” Kokomi added. “If it were an ambush for the sake of the manhunt, they would have tried to apprehend you. Death penalty or not, Kujou Sara is a stickler for process. She would never tolerate such brutal tactics, or stomach working with outlaws.”
The priestess’ eyes narrowed. “Which leads me to believe that this wasn’t just an ambush. It was likely an assassination attempt.”
“Wonderful,” Lumine groused. “Someone else wants me dead. Should I start handing out tickets?”
“Could it be a splinter group?” Gorou asked. “Another faction within the Tenryou Commission, maybe?”
“Not impossible, but…” Kokomi studied the bandages that covered Lumine. “Even a rogue Tenryou cell wouldn’t risk bringing in hired blades. They’re too hard to control. Not to mention the use of hounds.”
Kokomi placed a hand on her chin. “Considering your knowledge of, and disdain for the Fatui…” she began, her gaze meeting Lumine’s. “Would you say you’re a known enemy to them?”
She snorted. “Let’s just say I’ve gotten in their way more than once. And they don’t forgive easily.”
“Your Excellency,” Gorou asked gravely. “Are you suggesting a Fatui mole in our midst? And that they have infiltrated the Tenryou Commission as well?”
“Both are speculation at this point,” Kokomi cautioned him. “Though, given our Delusion problem, the former is very likely.”
She sighed. “As for the latter, we will need more evidence. It's entirely possible that these assassins are just wearing Tenryou colours to muddy the waters.”
“But even then, the Commission being compromised is a possibility we cannot afford to ignore.” She turned back to them. “Especially in light of this.”
She reached into the folds of her robes, and pulled out an ornate scroll tied with a shimenawa of deep violet. “This came to us only an hour ago.”
The General inspected the scroll, and paled. “How… did this get here?”
“Relax, Gorou. It came here on the back of a kitsune.”
“Good good,” Gorou chuckled nervously, not fully convinced. “Just as long as it wasn’t her.”
Lumine crossed her arms. “How is this relevant?”
“This scroll contains a tip, the location of a factory producing the Delusions. Banning them within our ranks is a band-aid solution. If we want this to end, we need to strike at the source.”
She gestured to the broken wax seal.
“But more importantly, it’s about who sent it. This comes from the Grand Narukami Shrine. While technically aligned with the Shogun, they are meant to remain neutral. They do not involve themselves in political affairs.”
Lumine’s eyes lingered on the bright red wax. She remembered the shrine, and the woman who led it — calm, sharp-eyed, and who knew far more than she let on.
Kokomi’s fingers lingered on the edge of the parchment. “The fact that they’re reaching out to us for such matters…”
She met Lumine’s gaze. “It either means the Tri-Commission is too unstable to act…”
Lumine’s fists clenched, disparate pieces of an unseen puzzle sliding into place. “...or too compromised to be trusted.”
“But…” Gorou’s brows furrowed. “The arrival of this tip is too coincidental.”
He blanched. “Is the shrine spying on us?”
“That, I suspect…” Kokomi sighed, “is more likely a mix of sharp political foresight… and the Guuji’s uncanny sense for timing.”
She turned, voice dry. “She likely saw what we’re only now realizing. If a third party is willing to sink resources to mass-produce deadly weapons during a civil war that confiscates Visions, there's a clear group that is more vulnerable to temptation… and thus more profitable.”
Gorou growled, his voice low. “As if one enemy wasn’t enough. And profitable? To what end?”
Lumine kept her mouth shut.
She knew what the Fatui were truly after.
She let out a loud exhale, a world-weary sound. “So now what?”
Kokomi looked at her, fatigue burning beneath her dry expression.
“We strike down our problems one at a time.” She pushed the scroll over to Lumine. “Beginning with this.”
The heat inside the factory clung to everything — a thick, stifling presence that soaked into her clothes and refused to let go. The air smelled of oil, rust, and something darker beneath: scorched metal and acrid chemicals, steeped in the kind of cursed presence that could only come from experiments gone horribly wrong.
Lumine moved with practiced quiet through the dim corridor, footsteps echoing softly against the grated floors. Pipes hissed overhead, venting steam that briefly obscured the path ahead in a curtain of white. She didn’t flinch.
Behind her, Thoma kept pace without a word.
His presence had surprised her at first, though she didn’t quite show it. But the Divine Priestess had made it clear. Swordfish II was down for the foreseeable future — with more dead than living, and whomever still functioning too maimed to move. Coupled with the urgency of the mission and the expected enemy engagements, there was no room to be choosy. They needed combatants that wouldn’t immediately fold under elemental fire, which made Vision wielders the most sensible choice.
Even those with “politically inconvenient backgrounds.”
Lumine had bitten back the question that rose to her lips. Thoma’s presence was already a compromise, a calculated risk. The last thing she needed was to hand anyone another excuse to second-guess his place, least of all for the sake of sassing the priestess.
She shifted her grip on her blade, suppressing the sharp tug in her shoulder as she rolled it. Her healing speed was improving, yes, but it was still far from perfect — and the factory’s heat wasn’t doing her bruised ribs and aching legs any favors. She flexed her fingers once to keep her blood flowing.
Her eyes scanned the narrow corridor ahead. The deeper they pressed into the factory, the more the emptiness pressed back.
Signs of conflict littered the halls behind them. Singed corpses, destroyed weapons, lingering traces of elemental energy cutting through the air. Resistance soldiers paced at their flank, securing the cleared zones.
They had fought to get this far.
But if this was the hardest resistance the Fatui could muster… it was borderline insulting.
A mere handful of agents and mages. A couple of skirmishers, who seemed more interested in circling them rather than striking, as if the fight was some kind of formality. Even one who had introduced herself, strangely, as the superintendent, as if anyone had cared.
Thoma had made short work of the first wave — his flames bursting clean and fast, his polearm moving with the practiced precision of someone who had long since learned to fight without drawing attention to himself. Lumine followed his tempo easily, blades slipping between armored ribs and cloaks like a dance they hadn’t needed to rehearse.
She could still move. Still fight. That was what mattered.
Yet there was something off about each confrontation. The way each enemy dragged the fights out, only to fall not in defiance, but eerie calm and resignation. As if they’d already made their peace.
The opposition felt less like a true defense, and more like a twisted performance; a delay meant to buy time, not to win.
Not to mention the strange state the place was in. A factory this hot should be active, the halls echoing with a cacophony of noise. Yet, everything piece of equipment they passed sat still. Not a single piece of machinery was active, and there were entire production lines that looked like they had simply been abandoned mid-cycle. Raw materials sat in vats hanging from overhead rails, and uncovered reaction tanks bubbled with unknown mixtures that sent acrid, corrupted fumes into the air.
A drop of something oily splashed down from above, halting her steps. A quick glance upwards revealed a valve left open, bleeding fluid and dense smoke into the open.
It simply looked as if someone had bailed… but decided to wreck everything in their path while leaving the engines idling.
Lumine looked to Thoma.
He met her gaze with an uneasy nod. His stance shifted ever so slightly.
So he felt it too.
Behind them, more Resistance soldiers fanned out into the vacant rooms, searching for any and all evidence they could find. A mostly fruitless effort, as anything that did not look like raw materials had been gutted.
Biting back a litany of curses, Lumine pressed on. Gingerly, she toed the boundary between the tight hallway to an open floor. Sterile warehouse lights flickered overhead, one even swinging innocently on unseen drafts.
She grit her teeth.
At this point this was at best, an invitation… and at worst, a trap.
But they were in the thick of it now, and there was no way left but forward.
Thus, they moved through the cavernous area, waiting for the inevitable shoe to drop.
And drop, it did.
“Well, well. Took you long enough.”
The voice echoed through the chamber — youthful, mocking, and too loud to pin down. Lumine and Thoma froze, eyes scanning the rafters, blades raised. Behind them, the Resistance soldiers edged toward the far side of the walls, weapons bristling.
“I told Signora her little assassination attempt wouldn’t work.” A theatrical, unimpressed huff. “But I guess unreliability knows no bounds.”
“Show yourself!” Lumine barked, her voice cracking like a whip.
“How rude.” The clank of boots on metal rang overhead, sharp and deliberate. “Making demands of your host while trespassing in their home? Where are your manners?” A low, scornful chuckle followed. “Show some damn respect for your betters.”
“Oh, I’ll show you some goddamn respect alright,” Lumine hissed back. “There’s only one kind that’s fitting for a cowardly bastard like you.”
A melodramatic gasp followed. “Such filthy language, from the famed Traveler?”
“The Honorary Knight of Mondstadt? The Hero of Liyue?” A pause, and Lumine swore she could practically measure the exact amount of false reverence dripping from his tone. “The last hope of the Watatsumi Resistance?”
“Keep yapping, asshole,” she growled. “It won’t stop you from meeting the business end of my blade.”
“Why would I even need to stop anything?” he drawled. “You can't even figure out where I am.”
A sharp, cruel laugh followed. “I wonder. Do any of those pitiful toddlers at your back with their pathetic sticks even know who they're dealing with?”
Lumine tightened her grip on her blade. “Seems rather clear to me: a pontificating, histrionic, vainglorious little drama queen with a mouth overdue to be sewn shut. Let me guess, waiting to spring your little Tenryou Commission friends on us? Or are they too busy shining the Fatui’s boots?”
Thoma glanced at her, whispering. “Should we really be antagonising him right now?”
“You should really listen to your friend.” Thoma stiffened, head snapping around. The voice continued. “Or one of us is going to do something regretful.”
Lumine snarled, baring her teeth. “Please. I’ll sleep like a baby after I’m done with you."
A dark chuckle. “Oh ho, still so eager.”
The air around her prickled.
“Then allow me to whet your appetite.”
Lumine whirled, body moving on pure instinct. Pain flickered up her side as she twisted — a sharp reminder that she wasn’t fully mended — but she pushed through it without hesitation. The room exploded with the sound of thunder, and a lone shadow was thrown back towards the rafters by the force of her swing. Lighting cracked between them. A wall of flame burst to life around her.
She flung a gust forward, clearing the smoke with a snap of wind. A youthful man stood revealed in the haze, wide-brimmed hat casting a cruel shadow over his face. His visage might have resembled something artfully carved from marble — smooth, symmetrical, almost perfect — were it not for the cold condescension in his gaze and the vicious curl of his lips.
“Passable, for a worm.” He flicked his wrists casually, dark lightning dancing at his fingertips like jagged threads of malice, utterly unfazed by the blow.
Lumine held her stance, jaw tight, breathing steady despite the dull ache creeping through her ribs. Thoma’s ring of fire flared around her in answer. “Oh, I have far more left in the tank,” she growled. Celestial gold blazed under the ache. “Believe me.”
“That would explain why my little subordinates fell so easily, despite their orders.” He sighed theatrically, shrugging his shoulders as if he were speaking about the weather. “Do tell me you at least enjoyed the little show they put on.”
Thoma’s voice dipped in horror. “You ordered them to die?”
“I sent them to perform,” he chuckled. Red-hot rage boiled in her blood at the word. “After all, it's what simpletons like you expect. A dark, scary complex, bad guys springing from the shadows.”
“Should’ve known shitstains like you have no humanity,” Lumine growled. “Even that dumbass Childe has more class than you.”
“Humanity?” He spat the word like a curse. Lightning sparked behind his eyes, visible even from his vantage point up above. “You really have no idea who you’re dealing with.”
“Oh? What’s next, a dramatic monologue?” Lumine sneered. “Going to enlighten my ‘simple mind’ and graciously announce who you are?”
Thoma shifted beside her, grip tightening on his spear. “Traveler–”
Marbled lips pulled into an utterly savage grin. “Oh, I’ll do more than that. And all without wasting an iota of energy on you.”
He spread his arms wide, sauntering in a slow, theatrical circle.
“Tell me, Traveler. What did you really expect to find here?” He swept a hand toward the chamber: stalled conveyor belts crisscrossing the ceiling, gutted control panels, cooling vats left hissing and open.
“A working horror show? Evil lab workers caught red-handed? Maybe a last-ditch defense of loyal agents ready to die gloriously? Big, gift-wrapped pieces of evidence of a political scandal to bring home?”
He clicked his tongue in mock sympathy. “You’re too late. You were always going to be too late.”
Her grip on her blade tightened, but he pressed on, his voice dripping with venomous glee.
“This place served its purpose long ago. Every last drop squeezed dry, then shut down and hollowed out. I left it standing only so you’d have something to burn.”
He cackled. “Not that it’ll fix your Delusion problem. Can’t stop the desperate from reaching beyond their station, can you?”
Then, with a snap of his fingers, mock-casual and almost playful, he continued. “Oh right. We haven’t cleared out the raw materials. Guess you’ll be doing us a favor by playing janitor too.”
“To hell with this,” Lumine hissed, bending forward, ready to pounce–
–only to freeze in place.
There, floating above his open palm, pulsed a brilliant violet glow.
The Electro Gnosis.
Her blood turned to ice.
“Don’t you get it?” He grinned wickedly. “You’ve already lost.”
“How–?”
“It’s why I agreed to shut this place down to begin with.” The Gnosis vanished in a blink. “A lovely parting gift from your little shrine maiden, in exchange for a total exit.”
Horror plunged deep into her gut. “You’re lying!”
“Think what you want.” He rolled his shoulders with a shrug. “I already have everything I need. That look on your face? Just icing on the cake.”
Then his grin widened, sharp as a blade. “So go ahead. Burn it all down. Dig up the Tri-Commission’s little flirtation with the Fatui. Expose how they’ve been playing both sides of this war. Run them out of town. Save this stupid country.”
“It. Won’t. Matter.”
He took one step back into the shadows, the smirk never leaving his face.
“In fact, if you really want all the answers, you could pay Signora a visit. I hear she’s been very busy managing this ridiculous balance. But as for me, I’m done playing house.”
“Oh, I’ve already penned that bitch into my calendar.” Lightning cracked around her as something within her pulled taut. “But first come, first served.”
Gusts whipped up, harsh and cutting. “You’re not walking away from here.”
His eyes lit up in delight. “On the contrary, the one not walking away is you.”
Right on cue, the ground lurched beneath them. Steel groaned. Crossbeams above bent inward with a deep, creaking wail. Dull, muffled explosions echoed from deeper within the complex.
“I may have promised a clean exit,” he mused, as debris began to rain from the ceiling. “But this might be a little more fun.”
“You–!” Screams and panic burst from the rear flank. Resistance soldiers turned and bolted as more tremors tore through the facility.
He was gone before the dust even cleared.
Lumine surged forward, rage boiling through her veins, only for a firm hand to yank her back by the shoulder.
“We need to go!” Thoma barked.
Swearing, they ran.
Explosions thundered behind them, the shriek of tearing metal and splintering wood a constant roar at their backs. The factory groaned like a dying beast, all warped beams and cracking steel. Heat pressed down on them from all sides, thick and smothering, smoke stinging their eyes as the air filled with ash, cinders and chemical smog.
A warning creak split the air above them, loud and sharp.
Lumine didn’t think. She spun, summoned a burst of wind, and hurled it straight into Thoma’s back. It lifted him off the ground and sent him tumbling forward, just as a massive steel pipe crashed down where he had been standing.
The impact shook the ground. Lumine slammed into a fallen chunk of debris from the effort.
“Traveler!” Thoma’s voice echoed in panic, somewhere ahead through the haze.
She didn’t answer. Her eyes were scanning frantically for a path out. Every route was either collapsing or walled off by flame. Her shoulder screamed in protest, ribs tight with each breath. The smoke blurred her vision. Lungs choked on poison fog.
Too fast. Too hot. No time.
She stumbled back a step, nearly swallowed by the growing inferno.
“Shit–!”
A sudden crack rang out, sharper than the chaos.
Then a dulled droning, unnatural and precise.
The flames parted.
And standing there, calm as the eye of a storm, was a figure cloaked in pale robes and foxfire, eyes glowing with eerie light.
“Really, now,” the ethereal woman sighed. “Should’ve known he’d leave a right mess. Like mother, like son it seems.”
Lumine didn’t have time to react. Her lungs were filled with fire. The world tipped on its axis.
The last thing she felt was a rush of cool air against her skin before the smoke swallowed everything whole.
By the time the world stopped spinning, Lumine found herself staring at the darkened soil along the shorelines of Yashiori Island. Itchy, prickling grasses scratched at her overwrought legs. The rhythmic sound of crashing waves roared in the distance. Her heart pounded against bruised ribs, and her lungs ached with the residual burn of smoke and chemicals.
“Ah, good.” A smooth, velvety voice floated overhead. “Now repeat after me: three two one, one two three. Come on.”
“Screw off,” Lumine growled, batting a hand away. “Where am I? Where’s Thoma?”
“... Not quite what I said, but I suppose it’s still a positive response.” An amused huff. “And your motor functions seem intact.”
She would hardly call the sensation of her bruises having bruises intact… but at least she was breathing. Lumine blinked against the sting of ash. The sky swam, then settled. A pinkish silhouette hovered above her — white and red robes pristine, sleeves too long, and expression unreadable.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Lumine rasped. “In fact, what were you doing in there at all?”
“And your brain isn’t fried either,” Yae Miko replied with a small smirk. “Wonderful news.”
“Just answer my questions, damn it.” she grumbled. “I’m sore, my lungs feel like hell, and a bloody Fatuus just walked away. I am this close to losing my shit.”
“Of course, of course.” A manicured hand rose to cover rosy lips, no doubt in mirth. The gesture only served to piss her off even more.
“In order, then? Your Yashiro boy is fine, he’s gathering the rest of your little hit squad. I’m here now because I’m ensuring you’re alive and intact, and I was in there because I needed to make sure the Balladeer actually kept his word.”
Sculpted brows furrowed. “Which naturally, he didn’t.”
Lumine shot up.
“You gave him the Gnosis.”
“I did,” Miko answered, entirely nonchalant.
The sound of the waves dulled around her ears.
“Why ?” Lumine growled.
The shrine maiden raised a brow, calm and completely unbothered. “Don’t presume to judge when you do not see the whole board.” A mirthless smile tugged at her lips. “In fact, you should be wondering how you’ll thank me for saving your life.”
Lumine’s jaw clenched with the sound of grinding teeth. “... Thank you,” she bit out after a pause.
Miko’s smile widened by a hair. “That’s better. But I’m not so cruel as to leave you out to dry. So here’s a summary to help untwist your hackles.”
“The deal was simple: the Balladeer shuts the factory down and withdraws all his forces from Inazuma, permanently. But the site couldn’t be left standing, not with opportunists circling like vultures.”
She tilted her head to throw Lumine a glance. “The Watatsumi Army was in the perfect position to help destroy it. And knowing you'd likely be sent in, I added a clause to ensure your survival.”
“But, of course, to obtain, something of equal value must be given. And given the Balladeer's proclivities, the Gnosis was the only means to guarantee his compliance.”
“Well he certainly didn’t give a shit about complying,” Lumine muttered darkly.
“Naturally,” she sighed, shaking her head in disapproval. “An unruly child can always be trusted to disobey.”
Lumine glared at the woman. “Morax mentioned nothing could really match the value of a Gnosis.”
The fox-eared maiden smiled faintly. “And yet he stepped down anyway. Again, don’t presume when you do not have access to the whole board.”
“Which I suppose you’re not going to tell me about.”
“No,” she answered, though not outright unkindly. “Some truths still lie beyond your ken… and your time.”
Lumine’s voice sharpened. “Don’t presume to treat me like a child.”
“Cosmically, perhaps you are not.” Miko’s eyes gleamed with a knowing glint. “But as an outlander, you are but a babe before this world’s fate.”
“Fine, keep your bloody secrets.” Lumine muttered. “Am I allowed to ask what the hell you want from me then? And don’t feed me bullshit about caring for my well-being.”
She shot the shrine maiden a challenging glare. Thunder rumbled distantly overhead. “Or is that also ‘beyond my ken’?”
Miko shrugged, unfazed. “To business it is. You’ve met the true Raiden Shogun, haven’t you?”
Lumine snorted. “Had a front-row seat to her trying to cut my head off in public. So, yes.”
“Not that unintelligent puppet,” Yae Miko’s huffed. “I mean the real one, the woman residing in the Plane of Euthymia.”
“The empty space that looks like an endless overflow of depression and lightning?”
“The very one.” Laughter flickered behind the fox maiden’s eyes. “That is where the true Electro Archon, Raiden Ei, the embodiment of eternity, resides. The one you had the misfortune of encountering in public is nothing but an artificial puppet constructed by her to avoid the deterioration of the body.”
The woman turned to observe the distant shoreline, her gaze softening into something almost fond. “Ei, on the other hand, placed her consciousness in that plane in a meditative state, to avoid the deterioration of the spirit and mind.”
The blonde huffed. “That just sounds like a lot of extra steps to avoid erosion.”
Miko hummed approvingly. “So you are aware. That was her solution to a problem every god must face. But she has taken it too far.”
Her voice lowered, just slightly. “It’s not about erosion anymore. It’s about avoiding loss, in any possible form.”
Lumine bit back a comment.
If that was meant to evoke her sympathy, the shrine maiden was shit out of luck.
“She has shut herself away in that inner world for centuries,” Yae Miko continued, “leaving only a mindless puppet behind with a singular focus on pursuing eternity.”
She turned back to regard Lumine once more, her gaze sharpening. “I don’t need to tell you what would happen when someone else comes along with a convincing road map.”
The blonde’s eyes narrowed.
The shrine maiden sighed, her robes drifting with her movements. “Thus came the Vision Hunt Decree, and Delusions. La Signora at the helm, and the Balladeer running shop. A manufactured crisis designed to corner our people into an impossible choice: succumb, or burn.”
Thoughts of Thoma, bound and beaten, his Vision paraded around like a milestone trophy came to mind. Then Teppei: once hopeful, now ash. “And you waited this long to act?” Lumine hissed.
Her voice dipped dangerously. “Do not mistake caution for indifference. I want this gone, just as much as every other citizen. The only difference is that I wish to redeem Ei while we’re at it, not condemn her. That alone requires far more care, and planning.”
“So what, you’re hoping to talk her out of it?” Lumine rolled her eyes. “She spoke no more than two sentences last we met.”
“Oh, heavens no.” Miko chuckled darkly. “The time for talk has come and gone. The only way to shake Ei’s will now is by force. She has always placed far more stock in a strong arm than a sharp mind.”
Lumine’s glare intensified. “Then why not you? You’ve clearly got power, and don’t act like you’re not on friendly terms with her.”
“I may be her familiar,” the fox maiden replied coolly, “but even I’ve never been able to enter the Plane of Euthymia. The fact that you managed to be invited into and persist in a space meant for her alone…”
Knowing eyes glinted. “Well. That says something, doesn’t it?”
Salty winds blew past Lumine’s shoulders, cooling her aching muscles with a bone-deep chill. Her lungs still rasped with each breath. The air between them hung heavy with expectation, as if the explanation alone was enough to make every bruise, betrayal and blasted circumstance go away.
Pressure, hot and choking, built in her chest.
“You’re assuming that I’ll even agree to entertain any of this,” Lumine growled under her breath.
Heated eyes snapped up to the fox maiden’s. “I’ve spent my entire time here having my chain yanked by different hands.” Fire burned behind her words. “And now you want me to save the god that let all this happen? The same one that, might I remind you, still wants my head?”
“Is meeting the gods not why you came here to begin with?” Miko countered smoothly. It seemed that nothing would ever be able to get under the kitsune’s skin. “And while the puppet is of exquisite make, it is nothing more than a mindless construct following rigid directives. I doubt you’d be satisfied with meeting that.”
“Whether you acknowledge it or not, you’re already on a collision course with Ei. You, the outlaw fugitive with a death warrant. And her, the stubborn god who has locked herself in her room, while her puppet stops at nothing to enforce a twisted will. Barring the Decree vanishing overnight, this only ends with one of you permanently stopped.”
“I’m offering you a third option. One that doesn’t require you to rise to the level of slaying a god, that lets you walk away with your life intact and name cleared. And of course, I won't send you in without assistance or preparation.”
Miko’s gaze bore into hers, unflinching. “You certainly don’t seem willing to die. And you don’t seem willing to let the people burn either.”
“Unless… you’d rather give it all up just to prove me wrong.”
Lumine sat back, her shoulders aching with the sharp pull of busted muscle and bruised ribs.
She did not answer. The sounds of waves disappeared entirely. Not even the itchy carpet of grass under her registered.
The sour, bitter burn in her chest shifted. Sinking deeper. Growing more caustic. And laced with an ever growing, unyielding fire.
Her brother’s words echoed in her ears.
“Because you need to see it all… in full.”
She thought of the series of perilous fights she’d been in since she stepped off the Alcor . Of every drop of blood she’d spilled on this so-called journey to seek understanding.
She thought of that tether of teal nestled right next to her heart, still warm, still pulsing, yet lonely since the day she threw down the gauntlet against the Shogun.
She thought of children foisted into warzones, of desperate people cornered and goaded into piercing themselves on parasitic powers never meant for them.
She thought of every cage, every expression of grief, every broken person she’d bled for… despite already running dry.
Of zero-sums masquerading as choice, of moral obligations dressed as mercy.
Of ruthless, cold-blooded calculus: sacrifice the one to save the many.
And the fool who let herself be sacrificed anyway — for a brother who no longer wanted saving, for a world that still brought her no closer to the truth, with only two near-misses on her life to show for all her efforts.
Enough.
If she had to suffer once more…
Then the least she could do was make sure that she took something down with it.
After all, even at its nadir, a star could still burn .
Lumine opened her eyes slowly, celestial gold blazing like a forge on the edge of boiling over.
“I don’t need to prove you wrong,” she said flatly. “You’re not that important.”
Gold eyes snapped to those of luminous violet. “You say I’m fated to clash with her? Fine.”
“But I’m not doing anything until I excise that Fatui bitch’s cancer and pay her back with interest.”
Miko’s lips tipped into a tiny, dangerous smile. “A little eager, aren’t we? But before you throw yourself head first,” she said, “every power base backing the Decree must be destroyed. The Fatui’s corruption of the Tenryou and Kanjou Commissions must be exposed.”
“I don’t care about the specifics,” Lumine muttered.
A small, shriveled part of her prickled with faint relief that the Yashiro Commission had been left untouched. Her first lot thrown hadn’t been a total mistake, and Thoma wouldn’t have to endure another betrayal.
A smaller, hollower part of her just didn’t care.
“I just need to remove that thorn in my side.”
“Surely only after you’re more… functional,” the fox maiden cautioned with a sidelong glance. “As you are, you’d just be stepping into a slaughter. And I imagine your Yashiro boy won’t be thrilled with such sentiments. He seemed rather… upset when I dragged you out.”
“Oh don’t worry about little ol’ me,” Lumine snarled, dragging herself upright on unsteady legs. “I’ll heal.”
Her voice turned darker.
“I always do.”
It was often said that the hardest thing to kill in all of existence was an idea.
For even as civilisations rose and fell, ideas and sentiments could persist long after those that birthed them had become dust.
And among the most persistent and universal, was the call for freedom.
With the Balladeer’s revelations and the shrine maiden’s covert directions, the spirit of rebellion within the Watatsumi Army, once on the brink of withering, began to bloom anew.
Kokomi wasted no time capitalising on this intel, funnelling Resistance resources into fracturing the internal cohesion within the Tri-Commission. Forces were pulled back to hold defensive positions. Investigations were launched. Spies deployed. And an unexpected trump card was put into play.
“Me?” Thoma gestured to himself in surprise. “But–”
“You’re still in the Kamisato Clan’s good graces, are you not?” Kokomi said, a knowing look in her eye. A satisfied grin spread across her lips when he did not immediately reply.
“They’re our best shot at uncovering what we need,” the priestess continued. “And once we aim it in the right direction, even Kujou Sara will have to capitulate. We can dismantle the legitimacy of the Decree and the authority of its enforcers in one fell swoop, and finally make the Shogun listen — by force, if we must.”
Lumine rolled her eyes quietly; it seemed like “political inconvenience” had a short shelf life these days.
But she wasn’t going to complain.
Soon, both she and Thoma, along with the first detachment of Resistance members, were bound on a ship back to Narukami Island.
“Lumi…” Paimon’s voice floated from behind her, standing out from among the rhythmic swells of the Alcor pushing through the waves. It seemed that Beidou and her crew had decided to throw in their lot with the Resistance too. Lumine stood alone by the rails of the deck, arms crossed and gaze distant. The viridian cape whipped outwards in the rough, salt-laced drafts.
“I know what you’re going to say,” Lumine replied tiredly. “But I know what I’m doing.”
Paimon drifted uncertainly by her shoulder. “It… doesn’t look that way,” she said, her voice small. “You don’t talk anymore.” She twisted her fingers, nervousness in her tone. “You’ve just been moving, non-stop.”
Lumine exhaled shakily, as if the very act of speaking drained her. “Because it's the only way,” she murmured.
“To what?” Paimon asked, little hands clenched by her sides. “I know we’re in danger if we don’t stop all this, but surely you can slow down? You’re–” The fairy eyed the patchwork of faint bruises and pinkish scars across the blonde’s skin. She hadn’t even allowed herself a day to rest since getting back from the factory. “-you’re going to break apart. It’s not right. Thoma’s worried too. And if the Tone-Deaf Bard–”
“Paimon.”
She flinched.
Lumine stood still, her body angled toward the distant storm clouds ahead. “I promise, once this is all over…” She trailed off, eyes losing focus.
The air between them fell silent, and for the first time since Paimon could remember, she could not read the expression on the blonde’s face. The thought alone sent a bolt of trepidation down her spine.
“Once it’s all…” she sighed sharply. “Everything will settle down, alright?”
Paimon wasn’t certain if the blonde herself believed the words passing her lips.
Then, suddenly, Lumine turned fully to her.
“I know…” Lumine glanced away, her breaths heavy and brows pinched in frustration. Each word that left her lips sounded like it was pulling teeth. “I know… I’m being… difficult right now. But…” Shadowed, sleepless eyes rose to hers. “Can you do me another favour anyway?”
“Anything,” Paimon answered readily, despite her growing unease.
Her anxiety only grew when Lumine reached up to her neck. The clasp of the cloak opened with a click. “Hold on to this.”
Paimon’s eyes widened as Lumine pressed the fabric towards her. The blonde’s hands shook, and her grip faltered once before letting go. The cloak weighed heavily in Paimon’s hands.
Lumine’s next words made the horror intensify. “Stay with Thoma once we reach the city.”
“Wait–But–!”
“I have no intention of dying,” Lumine cut in flatly, already stepping back. “But I am done letting anyone else get away with everything.”
Gold eyes flicked briefly to the viridian cloth. “I won’t drag either of you down with me any further.”
“You’re not — Lumi, we would never–”
“Once this is over,” Lumine said once more, her words final as she turned away.
Whatever came next, if there even was one, was lost to the sound of crashing waves.
They made landfall under the cover of darkness.
Back in familiar territory once more, Thoma made quick work of re-establishing contact by slipping back into the Kamisato estate. Ayaka, naturally, was still awake, and was the first summoned by the estate attendants. She froze as she entered the foyer, all poise dissolving the moment she laid eyes on him.
“Thoma,” she breathed, the words barely a whisper.
“I’m back, my lady,” Thoma answered, smiling lopsidedly as he made a formal bow.
She moved forward before decorum could catch up to her, grabbing his wrists with trembling hands. Frantic eyes scanned his tired, slightly haggard frame. Sea travel never got easier for him. “I almost didn’t believe it. I was so worried…” she whispered.
Thoma froze slightly under her touch, but otherwise did not move away. “...There were some close calls.” His tone softened. “But someone had my back.”
He tilted his head toward Lumine who stayed behind him, her hood up and presence quiet.
Ayaka’s gaze flicked to Lumine’s, her expression flooded by gratitude and something deeper. “We… I owe you a debt that can’t be repaid, Traveler.”
Lumine simply shrugged, her voice detached. She remained in the shadows of the foyer, away from the lamplights. “Just take care of him. And Paimon.”
The fairy hovered in place, her expression torn, before she drifted reluctantly to Thoma’s side, as if she were heading to the gallows.
“We’re still on business unfortunately,” Thoma said carefully, a hand gently reaching to rest over Ayaka’s. “We’re going to need the young master’s help.”
“Whatever you need,” Ayaka said without hesitation, her hand still clasping Thoma’s.
There would be time to breathe and bask in relief later. Every moment was crucial, and time wasted was time shaved from their safety.
With the Shuumatsuban engaged, it did not take long to uncover what they needed. Within days, evidence was compiled. Damning correspondences, falsified reports, illegal shipments — all stamped with the seal of one Kujou Takayuki.
Yae Miko grinned with deep satisfaction when Lumine walked through the Grand Narukami Shrine’s torii gates once more.
“I knew you could do it.”
“Just get on with it,” Lumine spat.
Kujou Sara stood behind the shrine maiden, her stern features tightening in suspicion as Lumine approached. However, she stayed her hand, knowing better than to violate the sanctity of the shrine’s grounds.
But once the papers were passed into her palms, all traces of restraint vanished. Her face paled as she stood under the shadow of the Sacred Sakura, eyes wide with disbelief as she scanned the contents.
“You expect me to simply…” the tengu’s voice shook. Tiny bolts of Electro crackled under her wings. “I-I can’t believe this.”
“Would you simply let loyalty blind you to facts laid bare?” The fox maiden sighed, utterly unimpressed. “Or do you take the Shogun and myself for fools, that you’d think I’d come to you with lies about something this grave?”
“That is not my meaning, Lady Guuji!” Sara snapped, her composure fraying. “But this… my Master–!” Her grip tightened on the papers, the words trembling in her throat. “He couldn’t possibly have deceived the Shogun to such an extent–!”
“Then decide,” Miko cut back, voice hard. “If this version of your Master you’re clinging to is worth more than the integrity of the Shogun’s nation and her people.”
“You’ve seen the Tenryou Commission’s strange movements. You know what the Decree has cost us. Or are you still choosing to be blind?”
Sara flinched, her wings snapping tight against her shoulders.
But Miko did not relent, the rapid fire of her onslaught persisting. “You don’t find it strange that you’ve been shut out from your own clan’s dealings? And all the while, Snezhnayan diplomats stroll freely through your front doors?”
Sara’s eyes snapped to the kitsune’s. “You know about that?”
“Inazuma is my home, and Ei’s legacy.” The shrine maiden answered, her tone uncharacteristically fierce. “Any rat that tries nesting here will not escape my notice.”
“I… I need to verify this for myself,” Sara said after a beat, stepping back. Her tone trembled. “With all respect, Lady Guuji, this is too serious to act on without concrete proof.”
“I’m not going to sit around while you clean house,” Lumine interjected coldly, advancing on the tengu. “This has Signora’s bloody fingerprints all over it, and every second you waste opening your eyes is another child dead.”
She pressed forward, eyes flashing a deadly gold. “Either you point me to her, or I storm your clan’s estate and drag her out myself.”
“You are still a wanted fugitive,” Sara hissed in warning.
Lumine growled, jaw clenching with a retort at the ready, but Yae Miko’s drawl cut in smoothly.
“Oh, enough with the technicalities,” the fox maiden scoffed, flicking her wrist. “The proof is in your hands. Your clan has committed high treason. The entire foundation of the Decree now stands on paper straws. If you still wish to arrest her, do so after you have a case.”
She turned to the tengu, her smile sharpening to a knife’s edge. “Until then, she acts on my authority.”
Kujou Sara tensed, her eyes darting uncertainly between the shrine maiden and the Traveler.
Then, after a moment, she relented, her shoulders dropping. “Then on your word be it, Lady Guuji,” she muttered. “I was last informed that the Shogun was to meet the diplomat privately.”
She cast her gaze toward the inner city. “It is happening as we speak.”
“Then I’m going,” Lumine muttered darkly. “You might want to warn your men. I’m not letting anybody stand in my way.”
Sara’s jaw tightened. “Whoever is stationed at Tenshukaku is acting under my Master’s orders,” she replied. Then, after a tense pause, her voice cooled.
“I can’t say how deep the rot runs. But if you spare their lives, for proper prosecution…” A flash of conflict passed behind her eyes. “I’ll let it go. Just this once.”
And with that, she vanished in a blur of lightning and feathers.
Lumine turned, ready to snap open her glider and take a leap off the mountain.
“Traveler.”
Her fists clenched. “What.”
“Two things,” Miko answered, entirely unbothered.
“The Shogun will, as you say, try to cut your head off the moment you step inside. When that happens, challenge the diplomat to a duel before the throne. You’ll get your pound of flesh and keep your neck attached.”
She continued, her tone even. “You might also want to note that the Shogun will only grant the winner a second chance.”
Lumine didn’t turn. “... Noted.”
“And take this.” A pale hand extended to her, an omamori balanced elegantly on an open palm.
Lumine raised a brow. “What’s this?”
“A good luck charm,” Miko smiled mischievously, as if the answer was obvious. “Those from the Grand Narukami Shrine are especially potent. If you ever find yourself at your wits’ end… take it out.”
She swiped the charm from the outstretched hand. “You are never going to talk straight, are you?”
The fox maiden’s laughter followed her as she launched herself off the side of the mountain shrine.
Air surged around her as her glider snapped open, the wings straining under the force of her descent. She angled sharply, slicing through the night winds with lethal intent. Bursts of Anemo kept her path steady. Geo thrummed at her core. Electro crackled restlessly along the edge of her blade.
By the time the soldiers at Tenshukaku looked up, Lumine had slammed down like a falling star.
Geo rippled outwards, tossing any approaching guards off their feet. With one massive, ruthless gust, the doors to Tenshukaku burst open.
Signora turned sharply, her ivory white raiments whipping around.
“What is the meaning of this?” she barked. Pale hair fluttered harshly in the draft. “Have you no sense of decorum?”
“Decorum?” Lumine thundered. The air around her cracked with the sharp snap of lightning. The Shogun stood on her platform, her expression cold and unmoving. “You’ve soaked this land in blood under a false Decree, sold Delusions to kill innocents, and you want to lecture me about decorum?”
Cruel lips curled into an unimpressed sneer. “Lies and slander. I should have expected as much from the likes of you.”
“We have all the evidence; even a gracious little confirmation from your Balladeer,” Lumine continued, voice dripping with venom. “Don’t even try to deny it.”
A single, manicured brow twitched at the name, but otherwise Signora remained nonplussed. “I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m just a diplomat on formal business, while you’re a wanted criminal barging in on an important meeting. Surely you’re not so daft as to see how this will end?”
“Go to hell,” Lumine hissed, whipping her blade upwards. “This ends here.”
Signora scoffed, her voice harsh and cutting. “A duel? As if–”
The Shogun’s voice cut in. “Proceed.” Solid walls of Electro slammed into place, boxing them in. Outside, stunned guards backed away in trepidation.
The Fair Lady’s eyebrows rose upwards as she turned to the Shogun, and for a moment, she was at a loss for words.
“My, my…” Signora’s voice dropped dangerously low as she regained herself. “It seems the little rat has done some homework.” Frost billowed from the edges of her dress.
Lumine’s grip on her blade tightened. Lighting roared along steel edges. “You’ll pay, bitch — for every child you’ve turned to ash.”
Then she lunged forward, blade screaming.
The walls of Tenshukaku burst into violence.
Elemental energy cracked through the air as a storm crashed into a wall of frigid winds. Waves of frost burst outwards, coating the floors in a gilded layer of ice. Lumine met Signora’s attacks with a whirlwind of steel, thunder and earth, each blow landing with the strength of a comet. The Shogun’s walls groaned under the forces.
From the moment the doors burst open, all knew that this would not be anything graceful.
This wasn’t simply justice anymore.
This was a reckoning.
And Lumine was done pulling her punches.
Geo rippled with each step she took, spikes of amber shooting forth to stab and maim. Ice crashed against razor blades of wind — compressed jets of air that howled as they sliced through space and flesh alike. Lightning surged in wild arcs, paralyzing and burning on contact. Lumine advanced relentlessly, trading fluid control for brute ferocity. She refused to let an inch, even as unnatural frost cut across her skin and pierced through her frame. Rivulets of blood sprayed into the surroundings as they traded blows, each one more thunderous than the last.
And Signora, while by no means weak, had her composure falter under the force.
For the first time in a long while, the Fair Lady could no longer treat a fight like a performance.
“You’ve grown teeth,” she murmured, blood trailing down her pale cheeks. Her eyes had long since lost their calm edge, now blown wide in unmasked savagery. Liquid fire, dark and heavy, began to bleed through her fingertips, even as frost lingered in the air.
Her lips pulled into a manic, vicious grin. “Let’s see how well they hold up.”
Skin melted as the Fair Lady erupted outwards in an inferno. Blood turned to vapour as the Crimson Witch of Flames rose, her body a burning whirl of silk and molten air, an unholy corruption of fire and an effigy of an art long lost to time.
Lumine responded by spitting out a small mouthful of blood.
Then she charged forward, celestial gold blazing back against the searing heat.
Elemental fury collided. Shockwaves ripped through the throne room, the Shogun’s protective walls screaming from the force. Neither woman held back, and neither yielded. It was hate against hate, exhaustion against hunger, fury forged in heartbreak against ambition bathed in fire.
Steel whipped across Signora’s temple, snapping the witch’s neck to the side.
But she did not stumble. Instead, she smirked — fierce and full of malice — even as red spilled over her forehead and an eye swelled shut.
“Oh, that spark in your eyes,” she purred, voice sharp and dripping with venom. Dark blood ignited into fresh plumes of fire. “So familiar. Natural, that a rat would mirror a rodent god. Tell me, little pest–” her smile widened to a razor’s edge, fangs beneath silk. “–do you still wear that pathetic bard’s cape to sleep? Does it still smell like his pity? Or is he recoiling at the sight of a feral vermin like you?”
The world around Lumine stopped.
And the stars themselves seemed to split.
One moment, the sword left her grip, the gold-lined blade burying itself deep into Signora’s shoulder with blinding speed.
There was no time to savour the shock on the Harbinger's face.
The next, she was on top of her.
The little tether of teal next to her heart stuttered.
Geo crystallised over her knuckles, a shield turned jagged weapon.
She drove her fists into Signora’s jaw with a sickening crack. Then again. And again. And again. Flame licked at her clothes, her shoulders, her hands, her hair — but she didn’t care. Couldn’t care. The fire could blister her skin raw and she’d still keep swinging.
“Keep.”
Flesh split open beneath her knuckles.
“Him.”
Flames sputtered from the force of her strike.
“Out.”
Blood splattered.
“Of.”
Bone cracked.
“Your.”
Signora’s head snapped to the side.
“Fucking.”
Gold blazed across Lumine’s form, feral and unyielding.
“MOUTH!”
The last punch nearly sent Signora’s skull through the floor.
Power surged around Lumine in a blinding corona, raw and wild, fed by something far deeper than anger. The cracks in the seal within widened, and gold poured out in unrelenting waves.
Something pulled sharply in her chest; hot and aching, like a starburst in her ribcage.
But she did not care.
Her grip flew to her blade, still buried in the witch’s body, and she wrenched it across with all her might.
Red and flame burst forth from the wound as a feral scream filled the air.
Lumine was thrown back by a roar of flame, Signora howling to the heavens like a beast unchained.
“YOU CANNOT POSSIBLY… BEST… ME!”
Flames rose ever higher, warping the air itself with blinding heat. Signora staggered to her feet, her jaw a mangled mess, her dress now more red than white, the stench of melted silk thick in the air. Blackened hands cradled her chest, torn flesh and melted skin sloughing off in grisly strips, painting the ground beneath her a sickening, gory shade. Her breaths came short — ragged and wet, nearly choking on her own blood. And, somehow, the woman still moved.
Unsteadily. Horrifically. But she moved.
Lumine snarled. She’d just have to hit harder.
She was about to leap forward once more, when the Electro walls around them suddenly slammed inwards with a blink.
And Lumine’s feet landed on untouched floor once more, while the walls of lighting closed around Signora — still burning, still flailing, her unhinged howls bleeding through the air as her essence became caged. Bloody flames surged uselessly against the walls, before finally sputtering out of existence.
“Enough.” The Shogun came down the ceremonial stairs, each step measured and unnaturally calm. The pristine walls of Tenshukaku stretched out around her presence. “The victor is clear.”
“YOU!” Feral eyes blazed from behind violet walls. The Fair Lady heaved in pain. “I... AM AN ENVOY… OF THE TSARITSA HERSELF!”
The Shogun advanced towards her, unyielding. The Musou Isshin crackled dangerously in her hand.
“IF YOU LAY A SINGLE HAND ON ME, I SWEAR!” Fear bled into her voice.
The Shogun’s sword blazed.
“FILTHY RATS, ALL OF YOU–!”
The sky split with a blinding flash. Thunder rolled through Tenshukaku's very foundations.
Then, eerie stillness.
And all that remained of the Fair Lady was a single scorch mark and a pile of smouldering ashes.
Violet eyes flicked to her. Lumine swallowed hard. A single bead of sweat trickled down her spine.
“Enemy of eternity.”
The blonde braced herself.
“Your victory has brought you honour,” the Shogun stated coolly. “Therefore, you shall be allowed to leave Tenshukaku alive.”
Lumine’s eyes narrowed, even as her heart pounded in her ears. Her limbs felt heavy, and a deep ache — raw, worrying — surged beneath her sternum. But she paid it no mind, and held her ground. “And after that?”
The puppet’s eyes blinked once. “You would test this mercy?”
“I know an expiration date when I see one,” Lumine ground out through bared teeth. “And that bitch was mine.”
The Shogun remained still, her gaze cool and calculating. Outside, the silence fractured, overtaken by the clamour of battle.
The Resistance forces have come. Rebellion had arrived full force on the city’s doors.
A final push against the months of hell and injustice.
“So you would still choose to spurn this chance.” The Shogun turned fully towards Lumine. The blade angled dangerously in her grip, poised for judgement.
“Your Decree is a lie, and your people have spoken,” Lumine snapped, refusing to yield. If she was on a collision course regardless, then she was going to choose how she crashed into it.
And if it landed with far more acid than grace, then sue her. “You’d know,” she spat, adrenaline pulsing through every fibre of her body, “if you’d stop hiding behind your damn puppet.”
Lightning — ancient, godlike and aware — flashed dangerously behind unfeeling eyes.
The hairs on her neck stood on end.
She whipped her blade up, but she was still too slow. Geo flooded her frame in desperation, and the rush of wind dulled her hearing as the divine blade inched closer–
–but the pain did not come.
Instead, the air boomed with the sound of crashing steel.
Lumine whipped around, mouth agape, to the sight of Kazuha with blade raised — his body whirling with wind and lightning — straining against the Shogun’s might. His pale hair whipped through the air, and his arms trembled under divine weight. Gentle eyes were now blown wide open in shock, fear and defiance bleeding through his gaze in equal measure.
But he wasn’t the only one.
For across him, mere inches from the edge of his samurai’s blade, the Raiden Shogun bore a mirrored face of surprise.
A blink–
And Kazuha was thrown back. He sailed through the air, crashing down in a rough tumble. The masterless Vision clinked against the floor, its faint Electro glow snuffed back into silence. Around them, soldiers stood frozen in slack-jawed awe as Kazuha groaned, struggling to find his footing.
Alive.
Violet eyes snapped toward the trembling samurai.
Lumine moved.
She shot forward, feet blasting off the floor, blade erupting into a pillar of lightning. The chamber rang with thunder as she soared, her form trailing streaks of electric gold.
No more.
“Face me for real, coward!” she roared, lightning-imbued steel raised high, fury sparking in her throat like fire.
The next thing she knew, the clamour of the world melted away, replaced by an otherworldly plane of silence.
Lumine’s blade slammed into the ground, thunder roaring in its wake.
And Raiden Ei stared her down, gaze dangerous and posture poised to pounce.
“Speak,” she commanded sharply, her voice echoing across the void. “For what purpose have you run your mouth and roused my anger? Surely you don’t believe such foolishness will shield the people at your back?”
“To open your damn eyes to the country that this insane Decree is tearing apart,” Lumine said icily. “You’ve buried your head behind your puppet long enough.”
Ei titled her head, her eyes never once leaving Lumine’s. “Then you sorely underestimate me.”
An ornate polearm, crackling with power, turned in her grip. “I am more than aware of what is happening. The Vision Hunt Decree has my tacit approval. And the Fatui’s actions, while unsavory, do not pose a threat to my eternity.”
Even as her muscles ached and skin burned from raw pain, Lumine felt her blood freeze.
“So… all these people under you…” Favionian steel trembled in her grip. “They mean nothing?”
“An individual’s ambition will always be incompatible with eternity,” Ei continued, as if she were explaining things to a toddler. “Desires, passions, dreams — they only serve to drive mortals to destruction. Every hand that has touched a Delusion has met the same end. And yet, those that have lost their Visions remain alive.”
Red flashed under Lumine’s gaze. Lifeless eyes, unmoving bodies, hollowed husks of existence, the whispered pleas for hell to simply end–
And she dared to call that living?
Laughter — broken, ugly, and hollow — slipped unbidden from her lips.
Ei blinked, her expression shifting ever so slightly as Lumine’s unhinged mirth echoed between them.
“All this time…” Lumine’s voice shook between unsteady gulps of air. “After all the shit I’ve endured… I thought that maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t dealing with a complete psychopath.”
Her shoulders trembled as another ragged cackle escaped her. “That even though you’re trying to kill me, that perhaps this was just all a big, screwed up misunderstanding.”
“But I see now.” Her lips drew back in a feral snarl. “You’re just another rigid, remorseless, unfeeling thing using ideals as an excuse.”
Lumine stepped forward, rage burning into strength. Winds roared at her back. “Morax, at least, had scruples. But you,” she spat, “are a fool in a league entirely your own.”
Thunder rumbled as Ei moved to meet her, her grip tightening around her weapon. “So, you intend to shake my will?”
Lumine’s power surged, bright, angry gold burning at her core. And in the spaces between her heartbeats, she could almost hear it. Whispered, desperate pleas of the fallen rising like tiny sparks from the ashes.
“No.” Her voice dropped, low and vengeful.
“I’m going to break it.”
Raiden Ei struck with the force of a storm.
But this time… Lumine was ready.
Last time, she’d been caught on the back foot, charging into a fight that hadn’t been hers to win. There hadn’t even been anything to win. Just a brief distraction, long enough for her and Thoma to escape with their lives.
But now, as a half-fractured star burning on mania and spite, Lumine threw all fear and uncertainty to the wind.
It was do or die.
And hell would freeze over before she let this colossal hypocrite of a god kill her.
She charged, an elemental hurricane of celestial gold and starborne fury.
Power detonated on contact.
Their blades collided with the force of thunder splitting the sky, and the resulting shockwave rattled down her bones. Lightning ripped through the air like whips, carving burning trenches into the fabric of the realm itself. The air ruptured. The ground warped beneath their feet. Pain burst across Lumine’s nerves like wildfire. Her arms throbbed. Her ribs groaned under the backlash.
But she did not stumble.
She shoved forward, gold-tinged winds whirling at her back, Geo anchoring her limbs. Rage ignited in her chest like a second sun.
And with a defiant scream, Lumine wrenched the Shogun’s naginata aside.
She only got a brief flicker of surprise before Ei regained her footing.
Each subsequent strike came with surgical precision; fast, unrelenting, and absolute. Raiden Ei moved like a tsunami: brutally powerful, yet unnervingly fluid. There was no hatred behind her attacks, only inevitability. She blinked in and out of existence, her steps faster than lightning, her blade drawing the line between life and death.
And still, Lumine did not fall.
She ducked and twisted through the onslaught, Electro coursing through her veins, dialing her movements and awareness to eleven. Raw instinct piloted her, shoving exhaustion aside as she felt more than saw the impending blows.
Elemental bursts lashed out in searing counterstrikes. Pillars of Geo exploded to dissipate force. Winds surged to reposition where cutting gusts could not reach. Lightning arced wildly across her skin. Celestial gold surged like an inferno, flooding her limbs with strength as she forced herself to rise from the concussive force of each and every fatal strike.
Blow for blow.
Burst for burst.
Eternity crashed repeatedly into raw, unbound defiance.
She made Ei move. She threw her strikes aside. She drew blood .
But even so, Ei did not waver.
She adjusted. She endured. She answered every fury-soaked slash with equal power, every wave of elemental rage with an anchor of stillness. Even as sparks flew and sweat dripped, her eyes remained calm. Measured. Certain.
Lumine let out a guttural yell as she charged, blade crashing down with all her might.
Ei caught the strike with the flat of her blade. The resulting shockwave blasted outward — enough to twist the space around them — and the two women stood locked in that clash for a breathless eternity.
Steel screamed. Muscles strained. Skin split. Teeth were bared in a snarl.
Gold eyes met violet.
Still, Ei did not yield.
“Your power has grown,” she hummed, her tone cool as if she wasn’t currently pushing against the weight of Lumine’s blade. A single, thin line of blood trickled down her temple. “Impressive, even after your clash with the Harbinger.”
“Spare me your commentary,” Lumine bit out, voice caustic even as her arms shook. “I can still keep going.”
“Is that so?” Divine weight, oppressive and mighty, bore down on Lumine’s shoulders. Adrenaline spiked as a halo of lightning appeared behind Ei’s back.
“Then prove it.”
Time stopped for the briefest of moments. Every nerve in Lumine’s body lit up.
Then, her ears flooded with static.
Fire pulsed through her skin.
Muscles screamed.
And the sky itself appeared to tumble as Lumine was thrown backwards, her bones nearly caving from the force.
The Musou no Hitotachi struck hard and fast.
But–
It did not claim a life.
Lumine rolled to a painful stop, her arms shaking violently from the aftershock. The skin of her knuckles had split, blood smearing the hilt. But her fingers stayed clenched, white-hot with the force of refusal. Steel sang in her hands, still ringing with the divine pressure of the blow she had dared to stop. Starlight flared against the flood of pain, drowning and deadening the worst of it. The desperate, disjointed whispers came back, growing more urgent by the second.
“I’m–” Lumine heaved, blood dripping from her arms.
“Not–” She drove her blade into the ground, hauling herself to her knees.
“Done.” And she shot a final, feral glare.
Ei stared, expression unreadable, Electro still crackling at the edge of her blade.
Then, a melodic trill pierced the air.
Lumine’s gaze dropped to the omamori in her pocket, now thrumming with energy. Foxfire licked at the edges of her feet, swirling into view.
Without warning, Yae Miko materialised beside her, composed, elegant, and not a single strand of hair out of place.
“Dear me, aren’t you cutting it rather close?” she hummed thoughtfully. Her eyes lingered on the small pool of blood forming beneath Lumine’s frame “And here I thought I told you to take it out when your back was against the wall.”
“Screw you,” Lumine rasped, her gaze locked on Ei. “I knew… you’d be watching.”
The shrine maiden smirked. “Smart one, aren’t you?”
“Miko,” Ei cut in, her voice clipped and disapproving. The realm thundered in warning. “This was your doing?”
“Now now, don’t forget where your knowledge came from,” the kitsune tutted, her tone maddeningly gentle, almost teasing. She stepped between Ei and Lumine, her robes trailing elegantly behind her. “You shouldn’t be surprised I found a way around your locked door.”
Fox eyes flashed. “You’ve gone too far, Ei. This needs to end.”
But the Archon remained unyielding. “You know why it cannot. This is the only way.”
Miko sighed loudly, shaking her head. “Still so stubborn.”
Then, she added, voice dropping. “You know she would not have wanted this.”
Ei twitched, her jaw clenching.
But Miko paid her no mind. She turned to face Lumine fully, baring her back to the god, practically daring her old friend to raise her blade against her.
Ei’s frown deepened.
“As for you,” Miko murmured, her gaze flickering briefly, almost fond, “you’ve done admirably well.” Then, she tilted her head. “But surely you don’t believe your ambition alone will shake her?”
Lumine blinked slowly, her eyes narrowing sharply.
“You can hear them, can’t you?” Miko’s voice dropped. Luminous eyes glowed with power. “The ambitions of others, with your nature.”
Uncertain, Lumine reached inwards, flexing the thread of golden starlight in her.
And suddenly, the whispers surged. They were no longer faint or fractured. They rang — real, vivid, and aching — in her ears.
Lumine huffed, her breath catching on her burning throat. “You never… talk straight… do you?”
“Oh, it was a gamble.” The smile that stretched across the shrine maiden’s lips was the most smug she’s seen yet. “But I guess I’ve always had a good hunch for such things.”
Foxfire roared. The ground beneath them thrummed with energy. The pain in her limbs began to abate.
“Now close your eyes,” Miko instructed. “Let their wishes give you strength.”
Exhaling deeply, Lumine shut her eyes, celestial gold flaring at her command.
And the voices poured in, drawn to the beacon of gold, rising to a crystal-clear crescendo.
“No more suffering…”
“Stand tall…”
“Do not give in…”
“We must stop this…”
“For freedom…”
“For future…”
“For home…”
“ Abolish the Vision Hunt Decree. ”
It had always been said that the hardest thing to kill was an idea.
And now, as gold flared to life once more, these very ideas pulsed — tearing through the fabric of the realm. Crystallised gems of human will, forged through suffering, broke through the unseen barrier, a myriad of falling stars converging on their last bastion of hope.
Strength flooded the blonde’s frame, otherworldly, foreign and impossibly bright. Aches dulled, breath returned, her vision sharpening. Lumine rose to her feet, her limbs steadied by a might that was no longer hers alone.
Ei’s gaze widened as the very landscape around her shifted, her own realm of consciousness bending under the force of countless borrowed dreams. Dull, thunderous skies drowned in new light, the weight of eternity faltering in the presence of a hundred burning stars.
And at the center of it all, a radiant surge of gold, chasing every shadow to the edges of existence.
“Can’t you see, Ei?” Miko said softly, her voice cutting through the storm of power coursing through the air. “The true potential of human ambitions? Of mortal will?”
“That only makes it dangerous,” Ei retorted, her polearm whipping upwards once more. “It cannot possibly stand against eternity.”
“Then I’ll just have to beat that fact into you,” Lumine said, raising her blade, her hand steady and stance unshaken.
“You want proof?” Gold eyes glowed dangerously.
“Here it is.”
Her blade smashed Ei’s aside before the god could blink
Ei staggered, taken aback by the ferocity of the blow. Lumine advanced like a renewed storm, winds howling at her back as she barreled forward with the force of a raging bull. Where Ei had once stood like an unmoving wall of inevitability, now the Archon found herself pushed back, her naginata catching more blows than dealing them. Each strike from the blonde now landed harder, faster — and even with her dominion over lightning it was getting more difficult to predict where the Traveler’s next hit would land. Around them, the Plane of Euthymia stretched and groaned as colours flickered across the skies, the Archon’s will struggling to right the world that was supposed to be hers.
Sweat trailed down Ei’s neck. Lines of blood still streaked down the blonde’s arms, and red smeared across the whites of her tattered dress. Yet, steel whirled about her like a typhoon, the elements roaring in tandem as more trails of light tore through the realm. More and more, Ei fought by instinct alone, her body reacting before her eyes could catch up.
A flicker of light, and Ei’s gaze snapped to her right.
Blinding gold roared, slamming into the flat of her blade like a sledgehammer. The force rattled down her arm, jarring even bone. When was the last time anything had shaken her like this?
“I acknowledge your strength,” Ei muttered.
“Don’t care,” Lumine growled in answer, her Geo-braced fist smashing into their crossed blades. Steel groaned between them.
Another strike. Then another.
Gold slammed into violet once more. The sky above them rippled from the pressure. Even now, ambitions continued to tear holes through the veil of Ei’s consciousness, rebellious comets punching through her mind in flashes of blinding light.
Lumine roared and drove her blade down with all her weight. Ei caught it, just barely, and the shockwave split the floor beneath their feet, a gash of light and force tearing outward through the plane.
“Yield!” Lumine thundered.
Ei did not bow. “No!”
This close, the Archon could see the corona of starlight lighting up behind the blonde in answer.
Then, the air between them shuddered. The sky itself folded with an ominous groan. A deep, foreign, celestial force pierced the god’s mind.
Ei raised her brows in alarm.
With a guttural roar, gold flooded her senses.
And Lumine fell, inwards, into memories that were no longer hers.
It wasn’t supposed to be this way.
She tore through the decimated lands, sailing between lightning bolts and leaving thunder in her wake. Frantic eyes snapped from one point to the next.
Not here.
Not there either.
Around her, the air was thick with inhuman shrieks and guttural screams. The sounds of throats choking on fluid and bones splintering seared her ears. The stench of charred flesh and vapourised blood scalded her lungs. Towers of flames billowed across the skies.
Red poured from the heavens, a pillar of divine curses raining down like armageddon. Eyes, grotesque, demonic, almost uncountable, pierced through the smog en masse.
It was as if death itself — almighty, unending — were peering into the world, its weight suffocating the land under its unblinking, unyielding gaze.
“Aneue!” she screamed.
No answer.
Panic grew with each smoking crater she passed, with each pile of bodies she left behind.
Why?
Why hadn't she said anything?
Then, she came upon a cavernous hollow, carved into the earth itself. Shadows roiled at its edges, beastly howls and hair-raising snarls cutting through the cacophony. Unholy lights flickered. Lingering sparks of Electro screamed in the air, as if the element itself were crying in pain.
And at the center–
Her knees buckled.
She cut through the rivers of darkness in the space of a breath.
“Aneue!” The godly frame that lay there, battered, torn and rapidly cooling, hung unmoving in her arms.
Her heart lurched.
No. No, this wasn’t– couldn’t–!
“Ei…?” Eyes identical to her own fluttered weakly.
“You fool!” She clutched tighter, red smearing into the edges of her robes. “Why didn't you tell me?! I could've–!”
The words that came were brittle, rasping. “No… time…” Wet coughs gurgled from her lips. “Don’t… stay…”
“We must get you home,” she choked. “Someone– someone has to know–”
Her sister’s head lolled backwards. The weight made her legs falter.
“No!” Tears burned at the corners of her eyes. “You can't–!”
Time. She needed more time. She'd been too slow, taken too long— there had to be something she could–
The idea struck her like a lightning bolt.
Aneue would not have approved.
But she did not have the time.
Shaking, she pulled the limp body against her chest. Trembling lips formed the words of an ancient incantation, ragged breaths spilling between each line.
The world melted away, and twin sisters found themselves within another plane.
“Aneue!”
The form in her hold remained still, but beneath, awareness stirred, an infinitesimal orb pulsing like a dying flame.
“You need to hold on,” she whispered.
“Imouto… this… c-can’t…” the voice slurred, as if it were dragged through molasses.
“Just shut up!” her voice cracked, her composure fracturing. “I– I just need a bit more time!”
Time to save her, time to figure something out, time to escape this hellscape of a nation–
Why was there not enough time?!
“H-home.” The tiny ball of consciousness flickered dangerously. “P-protect…”
“I will, but you–”
“No… T-time…”
The light blinked out.
Crying, she tore at the receding thread of consciousness. Panicked fingers grasped for something, anything — and she ripped the last vestiges of her twin back into her grip.
It sputtered in her palm; dim, weak. Nothing compared to the light, the bastion of truth and godhood that her sister is. Was. Had been. A pathetic shadow of a fading soul.
Flesh crumbled, the radiance and gentility that was once Raiden Makoto dissolving into dust, leaving nothing but a single, pulsing piece of Electro behind.
The Gnosis floated in her lap, serene and damning all the same.
Ei screamed, her voice ripping the realm apart.
Lumine couldn't even blink before she was thrown back by an earth shaking explosion. Electro roared like hellfire as the god of thunder herself struck.
“What–” she almost choked on her own breath. “You were in Khaenri’ah!”
Ei slammed into her, eyes alight with fury. Thunder boomed. “That is none of your business! ”
“You–!” Lumine braced against a strike that rattled teeth. “All this–?!” She leapt out of the way of an arc of lightning that scorched the ground. “All this suffering because of that?!”
“My sister paid for mankind’s arrogance with her life!” Ei roared, Electro flaring in a blinding flash. Fire seared across Lumine’s skin, superheated air blasting past her. The blonde hissed in pain, angry welts rising across her arms.
“Ambitions driven by greed!”
Lumine dove to the floor, the edge of a lightning-imbued blade missing her by a hair’s breadth.
“As if their prosperity wasn’t already enough for them!” Ei snarled. The ground shook with each step she took.
“Toying with powers beyond their ken!”
The barrier to the realm shrieked, as if in pain.
“They brought divine death all for a twisted dream!”
Lightning cratered a smoking hole where Lumine just stood. The blonde sailed through the air, winds lifting her.
“So you’d make the living pay for the sins of the dead?!” Lumine yelled back. Her heel snapped downwards in a vicious axe-kick, only to meet air and slam into the floor in a burst of Geo. “You’d strip your people’s sanity for something they had nothing to do with?!”
“Human nature will never change!”
“Says the fool who’s been out of touch for centuries!”
“Eternity–” The polearm caught the cross-guard of Lumine’s blade at the apex of her swing. A turn of her grip, and Ei shoved the point of Lumine’s sword into the ground. “Inazuma must be preserved for eternity! Humans must be protected from themselves! There is no other way!”
Lumine roared. Ei’s neck snapped to the side, the blonde’s glowing fist sneaking past her guard to crack across her jaw. Stars burst in Ei’s vision.
“That’s the way of cowards,” Lumine seethed, flexing her knuckles. Blood dripped from torn skin.
But the blonde did not let up.
She released the hilt of her sword, Anemo detonating behind her.
Her knee drove into Ei’s ribs in the space of a blink. Bone buckled under the blow.
Pain burned Ei’s mind like fire. The realm snapped from her grip, and rebellious light flooded the skies in full.
“For fools that fear change.” Her legs were swept from under her. Her skull struck stone. Ei’s vision swam, colours and shapes bleeding into one another.
“For simpletons who punish with broad strokes!” A heel smashed into her stomach. Bile and acid spilled onto her tongue.
“For hypocrites that abandon responsibility, counsel and hope!”
Bloodied fingers curled into the front of Ei’s robes. She was jerked upwards sharply, making her head spin. “You think you’re the only one who’s lost someone?” Lumine shouted, teeth bared with a breathless snarl. “You think you’re the only one who’s had to grieve?!”
The blonde’s hands shook — whether from exhaustion, fury or grief, none could tell. The grip tightened anyway, and Lumine yanked the Archon closer.
A violet halo glowed behind Ei, brief and defiant, only to sputter out of existence as an elbow axed her hard across the temple. “Those innocent humans you condemn have lost kin and friends alike, and they still persist. They swim in fear yet cling to hope. They still open their eyes every day to face the dawn.” Lumine’s breath shuddered with each word. “They even treat their animals with more kindness than you’ve shown to your most loyal.”
Fiery gold glared directly into her soul, burning the edges of her awareness with raw, unfiltered rage. “Your eternity brings rot and stagnation. It breeds fear and suffering. It is nothing more than a child’s fear dressed in philosophy, to be exploited by anyone with a working pulse.”
“While you’ve stuck your head in the ground and left your nation to a mindless puppet, change is still happening. You think you can overwrite a cosmic truth?” Lumine spat. “All this power, and you use it to pretend that hiding from change will make it go away.”
“Then what would your answer be?!” Ei spat back. Red poured down the sides of her neck. Her breaths came shallow and laboured. “How would you govern an entire nation that refuses to stay put?! How would you protect these people from divine forces that care not for anything other than absolute obedience?!”
Lumine threw her head back and scoffed, the sound contemptuous. “Oh, don’t even try to pin this on me.”
“You’re the one with centuries of supposed wisdom. You have mortals willing to risk their lives to fix your damn mess in spite of you. You just saw human will trump that of a god’s. You even have immortal counsel at your side.”
Behind them both, Miko let out a small huff.
“Ever considered working with them?” Lumine shoved Ei to the ground. A gust of wind slammed her head painfully against the floor. “Or is that still too advanced after all your meditation?”
The two women fell silent, shoulders heaving, furious gazes locked with one another. The realm around them hung in tatters, the plane flickering uncertainly.
For one moment, the god’s shoulders tensed, her jaw clenching till her bones creaked audibly in the stillness. Blood pooled under her robes.
Then, with a final exhale, Ei’s grip on her blade slackened.
“You’ve lost, Ei,” Miko cut in softly.
The Archon huffed, her voice low. She slumped to the ground in full. “So I have.”
“Are you finally willing to listen now?” Miko drawled. “Or does the Traveler still have to beat more sense into you?”
“Don’t push your luck.” Ei staggered to her feet, groaning. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten your meddling.”
Miko’s lips curled into a teasing smirk. “Is that really what you want to say after not seeing each other for centuries? Admit it, you’re glad to see me.”
Ei flicked blood and dust off her sleeves, huffing — though there was no true contempt behind it.
“Your people’s ambitions have managed to transcend space and time to override your plane,” Miko said, gesturing to the altered landscape around them. What had once been a dull plane of thunder and blood now shone brightly, as if the sun’s rays had pierced the veil to enter. “So why won’t you trust in it?”
“Because power, unguided, corrupts,” Ei said simply. “Eternity was the promise I made to my people to be that guidance. Eternity was to bring us closer to the Heavenly Principles.”
“And what has your promise wrought, Ei?" Miko hummed. "A hollow shell of a nation, stripped of its people’s potential and the will to function. The Heavenly Principles? Utter trite, as far as I’m concerned.”
Ei twitched.
“Tell me, for all you’re saying that this is to protect Inazuma…” Miko leveled a hard stare. “Would it truly be a loss for this empty husk of a nation, as it is right now, to be destroyed?”
Violet eyes glowed dangerously. “Retract your words.”
But the shrine maiden simply laughed, unbothered. “So you do still see the value in this saddened shadow of our home! All the more that you should nurture it with your own hands, no?”
“But…” Hesitation flashed behind Ei’s gaze. “My promise–”
“The people don’t need a promise, they need you,” Miko stressed. “Your presence, your experience, your nuance — though admittedly, that last one needs a lot more work.”
Ei rolled her eyes. “So what, is eternity wrong? You would ask me to abandon our ideals?”
“She would have wanted you to learn it, in all its forms,” Miko countered smoothly. “As it stands, your current brand of it brings a cruel fate, even to you.”
Ei blinked. “... Me?”
Miko’s voice softened. “Don’t act like your meditation here hasn’t been lonely. You’d sacrifice much for your people, yes, but in doing so you’ve sacrificed even yourself.”
“When was the last time you enjoyed your existence, Ei?” The words cut hard, and deep. “When was the last time you looked forward to something other than eternal stasis?”
Miko let out a small sigh when Ei could not answer.
“Perhaps you’ve served as her shadow for too long. It’s time for you to understand that an eternal shadow can only be cast from unending light.”
The god’s gaze drifted away, and silence hung between them for a long while.
“... There is much I need to think about, it seems,” Ei muttered.
“If you think for a second I’m going to allow you to do your thinking in your room, guess again,” Miko lilted in a sing-song voice. “You have centuries worth of real-world catching up to do.”
“And I suppose you’re going to be the one to tell me all about it?” Ei crossed her arms, shooting a dry and utterly unimpressed stare.
Rosy lips curled into a mischievous grin. “But of course. And with my perfect kitsune memory, you better prepare yourself.”
“If you two are done braiding each other’s hair,” Lumine snapped loudly, “I would very much like to leave.” She had long since trudged over to where her blade was, half its length still plunged into the ground. She stood by the buried sword, blood caking her dress, burns strewn across her skin, her face a potent mix of irritation and fatigue.
“Of course, of course,” Miko laughed. “Just give this electric princess a bit of time to figure out how to unlock her doors. She hasn’t touched that latch in centuries.”
“This conversation is childish,” Ei huffed, grumbling under her breath. The realm began to melt away.
Miko cackled. “Stick and stones, Ei. Sticks and stones.”
Notes:
I've decided to play up Scara's betrayal of the Fatui, give more reasons for trading the Gnosis and make the meeting with Yae Miko more layered and less like the lore and info dump in-game. Plus, writing Scara going all scorched earth was quite fun.
Chapter 12: The Fallout
Chapter Text
Venti drifted through the frost-bitten skies of Dragonspine, the perpetual blizzards whirling about him in an unyielding, biting flurry. Despite his divine nature, the unnatural icy chill could easily bite through his defenses if he wasn’t careful. He flitted from point to point, guided by the unseen trails hidden far beneath the rocks.
Even this far up, he could feel it — the rhythmic drum of Durin’s still beating heart, pulsing through layers of permafrost and rocks miles thick. The air swirled with corruption, the miasma of befouled dragon blood threading through icy gusts. Venti sighed; his survey today yielded no new information. The ley lines on the mountain were still brittle as ever, Durin’s life vessels curling ever closer to the precious rivers of memory that formed the lifeblood of the lands.
He knew that the Chief Alchemist was still hard at work within the bowels of the mountain, searching for a solution to the ticking time-bomb that was the remains of Mondstadt’s devil dragon. The bard himself was not idle, lending assistance where he could to survey the rocky cliffsides where even the Kriedeprinz’s steps could not reliably reach.
But alas, it seemed that this particular leg of his survey would end with nothing. There was little more he could do tonight. Dissipating, he flew back towards the warm embrace of the great oak, heeled shoes touching down on the branches in relief.
Teal eyes lifted to the skies, beholding the moon in all its silver glory. Crystalflies fluttered silently around him, their glittering bodies reflecting rays of pale light as they filtered through the canopy.
Absently, he plucked a trailing melody on his strings.
And his mind drifted.
To her.
To the girl who had once spent nights curled up beside him like a shaking leaf. Who’d clutched his hand tighter in sleep, even as she fought to pretend that the darkness hadn’t rattled her. Who’d given him the honor of her trust, pressed it into his palm, just above her heart.
He hadn’t forgotten the spark he’d placed there in return. Every night she’d opened the tether to him, he’d answered, letting his presence steady her as she climbed out of her own grief an entire ocean away.
She never pressed for more. But he felt it.
The tears she never shed aloud. The bite of shame behind her pride. The effort she made to keep him from drowning under how much she still hurt. And he was proud of her, gods, so proud — and still terrified. Because he knew the power of grief.
That’s why, when she stopped reaching out, he didn’t immediately go chasing after her.
He told himself she needed the space to be her again, not a broken girl wrapped around a wisp of a god. And besides… the last thing she needed was for him to be hovering like a mother hen, ready to come running the moment her hands shook. He owed her the dignity of distance. Nothing, not even him, was allowed to stymie her core strength. That survivors’ grit that she prided herself in.
The tether was still there. The seeds, still in her pocket. His cape around her shoulders. That was enough.
It had to be.
At first, it was just a night. Then two. Then a week. Then entire weeks.
He told himself she was busy. That Inazuma was a dangerous land, the tether too risky to keep open. A distraction could mean the difference between life and death. And knowing her fate, she was likely already in the thick of another mess. Radiant as she was, her brightness also had the unfortunate effect of being a magnet for trouble.
She was strong. A survivor. Someone who prevailed where even he could not.
But tonight, a full month after he’d noticed the consistency of her silence, even those truths began to sound less believable.
He was just about to consider how he would reach out first when a brittle wisp of air sputtered across his skin.
Normally, it would have been something he ignored. A trick of the wind; a lone, dying tremor of air.
But when Paimon’s voice — brittle, fragmented — trembled in his ear, his stomach lurched.
“... needs you…”
“... going to hurt herself…”
Venti’s breath caught.
“Do something.”
His heart stuttered. What was happening?
Then the tether in his chest erupted.
Venti tumbled to the ground with a painful thud.
Fire, white-hot and furious, seared across every nerve.
He couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. Savage rage gripped him, seizing his lungs. Blood flashed through the link, the taste of iron on heavy his tongue.
He gasped, stumbling across the grass. Where– what–?
Then, blinding pain.
Like his heart had been ripped in half. He smashed into the trunk of the great oak, the bark biting into his shoulder.
Not his heart.
Hers.
Panic spiked. He tried to reach back, only to recoil as molten fury scorched him.
What was happening?
Something had gone horrifically wrong. The world spun as the flames retreated, barely, Lumine’s feral frenzy momentarily suspended.
He reached forth again, desperate. He tried to anchor her, to break through the cyclone of vicious emotions that barreled through the tether in a dizzying spiral. His own fear and confusion surged, warring uselessly against the tsunami.
She wasn’t listening. She couldn’t.
He pushed ever harder, trying, hoping for one moment of clarity, of calm–
Only to have something far, far worse take its place.
Mortal peril screeched down the link. Every hair on his body stood on end.
And for one heartstopping moment, he felt it. The gaping, freefalling sensation of staring death in the face.
Horrifyingly, the tether sputtered — the link weakening like static.
Then, silence.
There were no words to describe the maelstrom in his mind as the Anemo Archon exploded into a typhoon. Fear clamped his heart like an icy vice, and it took everything to not fall out of the sky as he thundered across land and sea alike. Images of the dear friend whose face he now wore, bloodied and broken, flashed in his head.
His stomach turned as he imagined her, eyes drained of light, body limp and unmoving.
He couldn’t lose her.
He couldn’t.
Barbatos, wings alight and body aglow, crashed into the unending thunderstorm that surrounded the Inazuman islands.
There, at the boundary of lightning and gales, divine powers warred. Storms — spun to life by the god of Electro’s mandate — lashed out at him, the foreign hurricane trespassing upon the domain of thunder and eternity.
He roared, and the skies answered. Lighting cracked across the clouds like a whip, bleeding pain through him. Thunder smashed into his chest with a force that rattled bones and seized breath. Electrified winds repelled him, resisting his might through a will not his own.
But he was the God of Wind.
“Let me through,” Barbatos growled, gale force winds curling tight around him like loyal wolves. His divine raiment snapped against the currents. “You do not get to take her too.”
With a final howl, divine Anemo shattered the storm wall with a deafening boom.
At once, the brittle, blood-soaked winds of the nation flooded his senses.
Iron filled his lungs. Delayed echoes of clashing steel, broken wails, and thunderous war cries bled into his ears. The land itself felt fractured, a nation bleeding out through smoke, rebellion, and struggle. Pleading for freedom. For relief.
He choked. Cold dread plunged into his gut.
He knew this.
He could hardly forget one of the worst days of his life.
In the distance, thunder boomed, a divine war drum rolling across the city, earth and sea. A gargantuan sigil of Electro crested across the stormbound sky, eternal eyes of lightning sliding open to cast their gaze upon all the land. The haze of blood and violent noise froze. Even him, immortal and ancient, stilled under the weight of it all.
Enough.
A thunderous command, heavy and loaded with the threat of divinity, rumbled through him. Fear pulsed within at the sight of eyes hanging in the sky.
The Almighty Narukami Ogosho declares to all: Cease all violence or face judgement. The Throne of Eternity acknowledges your cry.
He tried very, very hard to tell himself that history wasn’t repeating. That Istaroth wasn’t somehow raking him across the coals of another nightmare incarnate.
Whatever in the wretched abyss Lumine has stepped into, whatever his bile-laced, panic-fueled mind was screaming, this wasn’t Khaenri’ah, nor Old Mondstadt.
He wouldn’t know what he’d become if he had to cradle the body of another one dear to him.
And if he did… it would be utterly and unquestionably his fault.
Lightning flashed, old and alive, to his right before he could manage the next thought.
And the personification of thunder surged up to meet him.
“Trespasser,” the Raiden Shogun intoned flatly. She hung weightless, miles above the earth, sandaled feet balanced dangerously on glowing pools of Electro. Dark hair whipped in the harsh currents, lightning crackling through every strand. “State your business.”
He whirled around, alarm marring his features. Angular feathers sliced through the air like knives. “You’re actually–! What’s–?”
Her eyes unblinking and cold, shifted in recognition. “Anemo Archon. Your presence is… inconvenient.”
He hadn’t seen her in centuries, yet the difference was immediate. The Raiden Shogun he remembered had moved like flowing water, every motion fluid and elegant. This one stood rigid, doll-like, all grace frozen into a soldier’s stance.
Then, something shifted. One breath later her shoulders eased, and a warmer, though still formidable, presence bled through.
“Barbatos.” Her voice was softer now. No longer flat, and yet still cold and no less foreboding. And, perhaps most alarmingly, deeply exhausted. “You have come at the most inconvenient time.”
“What is happening?” he snapped. A thousand questions burned at the forefront. “Where is Lumine?”
“An internal matter. It is under control.” Violet light bathed her from behind, casting long shadows across her features. The gigantic sigil hung behind her like an omen. “And I do not recognise the name you speak.”
“The Traveler,” he corrected breathlessly. He tried the tether once more. No answer. “A blonde woman. White dress. Flowers in her hair.”
Baal– no, Beelzebul blinked at him, her composure cracking. For a second, the visage of the unyielding Shogun slipped, her expression turning almost stony with shock.
He caught the string of muttered curses as she pinched the bridge of her nose. “I should have known.”
Dread curled in Venti’s gut. “What happened?”
“I–” Her voice faltered as her eyes darted away. “I cannot fully explain right now,” she murmured. “Only that… it should not have happened.”
Her gaze fell upon a distant cliff, hanging off the outskirts of the city. Vision sharpening, he saw it — the tiniest pinprick of gold among a sea of blackened grass and scorched earth.
Alone.
He sped off in the space of a blink, courtesy be damned.
He simply hoped he wasn’t too late.
Venti struck the ground in a storm of feathers and light, divine wings and garb dissipating into his bard’s guise. He stepped across the grass with his heart in his throat.
The terror only deepened when his eyes fell on her.
Blood smeared across every exposed stretch of skin. Her ivory dress hung in tatters, just barely able to shield her from the chilling, unforgiving draft. The edges of her golden hair had been singed off, and what of her that wasn't covered by blood or fabric flared an angry red, broken only by the criss-cross of burns, wounds and scars.
“Lumine…?”
She didn't turn. Tired eyes lingered on the horizon.
He stepped closer, only to wince when she flinched away. “You…” she rasped. “You shouldn't be here.”
Gods. What had happened?
A hollow, mirthless huff slipped past her lips. “I saw it all.” He blinked once. “The rot, the lies, the filth,” she muttered, her eyes still not meeting him.
Then her voice dropped further. “Just like he asked.”
“You were in pain. Angry.” His voice shook. “You- I felt blood.”
“Oh.” She blinked slowly, still fixed on the distance. As if she wasn’t even present. Burnt, matted hair flopped limply against her cheeks. “That wasn't… you weren't supposed to see that.”
“Well I did. What were you–”
The thought slammed into him. His eyes dropped to her hands.
Bruises. Split knuckles. Bits of dark gore stuck between her fingers. Red — human — blood.
Like the endless rivers of it that had spilled across the earth that day, pain and screams and terror filling every corner-
His veins turned to ice.
“You killed someone?” he whispered, his throat tightening.
She shrugged. “What does it matter? It’s hardly the first time.”
“Hardly–!” he snapped, a tremor in his hands as he grabbed her wrists. Horror bloomed as he inspected the damage up close. “This–”
“Who was it? Who did you kill?”
“Who cares?!” she snapped, whipping out of his grip. Her ruined dress snapped like a flag in the wind. “She stole your Gnosis, hurt Paimon, and tried to kill me! She started a war! Hundreds are dead because of her!”
Her fingers clenched. Fury darkened her gaze.
“She needed to go.”
Venti swallowed hard. “Lumine– this… this isn’t right. You know that.”
“I’ve been killing ever since I woke up here.” Gold eyes flashed in warning. “Don’t act like that’s suddenly a problem.”
“In defense! But this–” Venti shuddered. “This isn’t justice, it’s bloodlust.”
His heart felt like it was splitting in half. “If you give yourself to vengeance like that…” His hands raked through his hair, a hundred different thoughts storming through his mind. Memories of blood and death seared him.
Pale fingers fisted into his sides as Venti heaved, swallowing bile. He couldn’t afford to lose it, not now. “This… this was a mistake.” His shoulders shuddered with each breath. “You shouldn’t have come here.”
Her expression twisted into something painful. The sight of it hit like a knife to the heart.
The snort that followed drove the blade deeper. “A mistake?” she hissed. “I agree.”
“That wasn’t–”
She whirled on him, grief and anger surging to the surface. “Ever since I stepped off that boat, I’ve been used. Made to bleed for a war I wanted absolutely nothing to do with.”
“Everyone thinks they know the wonderful Honorary Knight. The noble Hero of Liyue,” she spat each title like a curse as her voice rose. “That as long as they parade enough dead children in front of me, they can get what they want.”
Dead children–!
“Well, they did!” she roared. A blast of Geo exploded under her feet. “The Fatui are gone! Their nation is saved! Peace and bloody prosperity for all! But me?!” Her voice cracked. “I can barely stand, and still have fuck all about what my brother wants from me!”
“So yes, this whole journey has been a goddamn mistake,” Lumine heaved. Gold burned into him.
“But I came here, because I needed to.”
Something within him fractured.
His limbs went numb.
And she must have felt it too, for the fire in her stuttered in place, the sensation bleeding through her expression. Her gaze snapped back into glaring focus, widening rapidly in regret as she faltered.
“I…” Her lip trembled.
“No… no, you’re right.” The world muffled and blurred at the edges. “This… this is my fault.”
She reached forward. “Venti–”
He staggered back. His eyes traced every line of red and white across her skin. He remembered her prayer, lost and tremulous, whispered into the wind a lifetime ago.
The look she gave him tore him apart.
“I thought you died,” he murmured, his voice keening. The tether sputtered painfully within them. “You could have died. You almost did.”
Teal orbs shook. “And I made you come here.”
A single bloodied hand twisted into golden locks. “No, no that’s not…” Her breath hitched, words dying on her parted, breathless lips. Her expression turned pained, whatever sentiments she wanted to say choking on the rawness in her throat. The other hand hovered in the air, unable to reach further before falling limp to her side.
But even if it had stayed there, he could not have met her. Not with his thoughts stirring into a storm in his mind.
He had seen the signs. He had been with her.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered through cracked lips.
Red-rimmed eyes — too fragile, too real — bore into his. The guilt seared him.
Hadn’t she looked at him with those same eyes back then? Hadn’t she practically begged him not to go?
But he did.
Worse, he had stayed away.
And because of what? A fear of her drowning in him? Because nothing, not even him, was allowed to tie her down?
Trite.
It was cowardice, pure and simple.
How could he have promised she would never be alone, only to have him stay silent while she burned?
How could he think that sending her off would spare her wings, when he'd pushed her from the nest and dared her to fly?
Was it any surprise that his dear, broken bird, crashed into the flames?
Barbatos, the God of Freedom, using his ideals as a shield. What else was new?
“In wishing freedom for you, I've bound you in neglect.” His head dipped low. “Two thousand years and still I have not learned.”
What was it he told Dvalin? Freedom, if demanded by a god, is no freedom at all?
Hypocrite.
Liar.
Dry, ash-laden air swirled between them. He should leave. She deserved better than this. Better than him. But his feet — weighted and numbed — remained rooted, somehow wiser than he through the overwhelming urge to disappear.
It was bad enough that he’d broken his promise.
Leaving now would only seal it.
For what difference would there be then, between him and the brother that once called her home?
Lumine had long since slumped on to the grass. Her breaths came in ragged gasps, her arms limp at her sides. Tears traced silent paths down her cheeks.
“It was foolish to think you only needed space.” The words tasted like dust. Fire burned his cheeks. “And gods– you tried, you tried so hard even when I was being–” Fingers curled into tight fists. “I should have… I should have known better.”
The next words caught in his throat. Even now, they shamed him.
“Still… I want to make it right.” Did he deserve to say this at all? Did his promises even mean anything anymore?
He exhaled shakily. There was only one person who had the right to decide that.
“If you’d still have me,” he finished quietly, his head dipping and arms hanging limp. The silence stretched between them.
For a long while, Lumine did not respond.
Until a fragile sob broke the stillness.
“Don’t go,” she whispered, shoulders trembling.
“I won’t.” He kneeled on the grass. “I swear it, for however long you want me.”
“Just stay… Please?”
“Okay.” He lowered himself fully next to her. “Okay.”
The pair sat in silence. Winds blew. Lightning flickered. The dull sounds of distant thunder rumbled overhead.
After what felt like hours, Lumine stirred. The edges of her torn dress brushed against him.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured, her eyes downcast in shame. “I shouldn’t have said that. I just–” She swiped at her cheeks. “I just wish things didn’t happen this way.”
Neither did he, Venti thought sadly. But nothing could undo what had already been done.
“Every night…” Lumine paused. The tether flickered within him with a tentative, almost fearful flutter. “I wanted to.” She curled her knees to her chest. “But I couldn't.”
His chest ached. “Why not?”
She hid her face in her arms. “Because I’d cause you trouble,” she mumbled. “I'd be a burden.”
The words hit like a gut punch.
Inhaling deeply, he reached out, sliding his fingers between her own. He kept his touch gentle, wary of aggravating her injuries. The weight of her hand pressed into him, warm and soft, her face never lifting from the shelter of her other arm. But she didn’t pull away.
After a long while, he spoke. “You’re not a burden.”
His thumb brushed over broken skin. “Not to me. I…” He swallowed thickly. “You’re too important to be that.”
The words made her shift slightly. “But I got myself into this mess. The war, the Fatui… everything.”
He tugged at her hand, both in mild admonishment and in answer. “You didn’t deserve to be used. Even if it seemed like you had no choice… it doesn't mean you should’ve been left to face it all by yourself.”
A shaking breath slipped from her lips. Her fingers twitched, curling momentarily around his knuckles as they shook.
They fell into a still, brittle silence.
Then, her muffled voice came through once more. “I didn't land the final blow.”
He turned. Grass crinkled under his weight.
“But…” Though her face remained buried, he could hear the trepidation in her words. “I knew what it meant. Confronting her in Tenshukaku. Challenging her to a duel before the Shogun.”
She curled further into herself, burying her face deeper. “Then she ran her mouth about you.”
Venti shut his eyes as he took a steadying breath. “I see.”
She stilled, every line in her body drawing taut at once. Her hand twitched fearfully in his hold, ready to jerk away at a moment’s notice.
Instead, he sighed, tugging her arm closer. Her skin brushed against him. “How can I fault you for that?” he murmured. His ear turned to the brittle gasps of air on the winds, and the fragile hush that had fallen over the nation ever since Beelzebul’s command rolled across the sky. “After all she’s done?”
Her breath hitched faintly.
“I’ll admit that it still scares me,” he added softly, “seeing you come this close. But I can’t judge you for it.”
He let out a deep sigh, his next words dragging over wounds as raw as they were old. “I lost a dear friend a long time ago, in the fires of war.” Images older than most yet somehow still painfully fresh flickered behind his eyes. “Even now, there are nights where I wish that someone would pay.”
The bard huffed, his voice dry as bone. “But the one responsible is already long gone.”
“And in the end…” Venti’s gaze lowered. “The truth is that my friend knew the risks. But he chose to face them anyway.”
Silence fell once more, the words sinking into the space between them. They sat on the grass unmoving, the rest of the still ailing land deaf to their ears. Lumine said nothing, her face still hidden by her arms, though there was a wordless, unsteady pang that rippled through the tether. Venti stayed still, holding the fragile sensation behind his ribs in quiet as it mingled with his own.
Then, once again, Lumine shifted — tired eyes peeking from the edges of her lashes. “Is… is it really okay for you to be here?” Her gaze flicked to the air around them, hovering on the distant horizon, before returning to him.
Venti gave her what he hoped was his most reassuring expression. “Mondstadt’s held its own for centuries without me. And the Shogun is aware that I’m here, no trickery involved.”
Yet, instead of calming her, his answer seemed to have the opposite effect. “This was precisely what I wanted to avoid,” she groaned as tears poked out of the corners of her eyes.
He tilted his head in confusion, only for her to add, “You’re the God of Freedom. Coming here during a civil war… won’t it get you in trouble?” She let out a frustrated growl. “And then there’s the entire shitshow I’ve had with the Shogun–”
That sense of dread returned, prickling coldly across his back. But he schooled his voice into one of even calmness. “What happened?”
Venti tensed as her back stiffened. “I opposed her Vision Hunt Decree,” she murmured. “To her face.”
Blood drained from his cheeks. Still, he tried to steady himself, if only to stop himself from twitching. “And?”
Lumine hesitated. “She… tried to kill me. Twice.”
“Twice?!” he yelped.
“First was when I saved someone from getting their Vision taken. Second was because the Guuji needed someone to make her see sense and stop the Decree.” Lumine shifted restlessly, her next words laced with bitterness. “So I was given an offer: keep running from a death sentence on an island, or beat some sense into a god to clear my name.”
Sweet Archons above.
At least that explained the mortal peril that had burned him through the tether. And Beelzebul’s strange behaviour upon his arrival. Neither stopped his stomach from curling anyway.
But he had more immediate matters to focus on. He moved to kneel in front of her, laying his hands on her shoulders.
“You don’t need to worry about this by yourself,” he said, voice steady. “Let me handle her.”
“But you– Mondstadt–”
He nudged her, gently but firmly drawing her gaze back to his. “That isn’t your burden to bear, Lumine.” His eyes softened, tracing the wounds scattered across her. “I promise, I won’t let it get out of hand.”
Lumine slumped into his hold, the fight draining out of her as quickly as it came. A frigid, salty gust blew by them, whipping up blades of loosened grass and bleeding ice into the skin. Lumine shivered. “... I’m just so tired,” she muttered.
“Then rest.” Venti drew her closer. He wrapped his arms around her, careful to avoid the worst of her injuries. Dust and dried blood smeared into his clothes. “You should head indoors and get your wounds looked at. This cold won’t be good for you.”
She shook her head. “I don’t want to see anyone right now.”
“Lumine…”
“Please.”
He bit back a sigh. “Only for a little while, alright?”
She gave the faintest hum of thanks, barely audible, her head already dipping against his shoulder.
The winds softened around them, brushing salt and ash from the air, as though the world itself was sighing in relief. Her shivers eased beneath his arms, the rigid set of her body melting by slow degrees. Slowly, he nudged the tether open, pushing a gentle stream of reassurance into it. In answer, he felt it — the small rush of yearning, trembling beneath raw tides of hurt.
“Venti…?” she murmured, her voice hushed and on the verge of breaking.
“I’m here,” he whispered back.
Whatever she had meant to say never came. Her lashes fluttered once, twice — then stilled, her breathing evening out against his chest. He held her tighter, pressing his nose into her hair, as though even the slightest loosening of his hold might break her fragile reprieve.
“Sleep, my little bird,” he murmured, though she was already gone, pulled under by exhaustion’s tide.
And for the first time since the storm began, the silence finally felt closer to peace.
The days passed in a haze.
For Lumine, it was as if time slowed to a crawl as she bounced between weariness and wakefulness. Exhaustion clouded her daylight hours as the weeks of non-stop tumult took their toll. She hobbled about the hallways of Komore Teahouse with quiet steps, her body more bandage than skin. Come nightfall, exhaustion readily dragged her under, her mind drifting off before the lamps in her room even dimmed.
But she quickly learned the key difference between sleep and rest.
Night after night, disjointed images and sensations haunted her. A cold, distant gaze of gold. Hellfire melting flesh. Life drained by black tendrils. The slick, sticky drag of gore under nails. Whatever precious slumber she slipped into fragmented, her mind thrown into a loop. A pattern of oblivion overtaking her swiftly, only to be catapulted into waking not long after — her wounds pulling sharp with pain and her heart in her throat.
For Venti, it was like watching a time loop. Fragile daylight hours where he stayed by Lumine’s side, watching her drift through the room in a quiet daze. Then came fraught nighttimes splintered by terror as Lumine startled into wakefulness, tears welling behind her eyes yet silent in her suffering.
His hands never failed to find hers in the dark. Venti pulled her towards him, pressing his face into her temple as he whispered comforts into her ear. She never resisted, yet the line of her back never truly slackened even as she folded into his embrace. More than once, even in the day, he caught it out of the corner of his eye; a bandaged arm freezing mid-reach — afraid, ashamed, to close the gap.
Cyclic as the days felt, Venti could not afford to let this mistake, his mistake, to repeat.
So when he felt that hesitation again, that lingering uncertainty as he gathered their food trays one morning, he halted his footsteps.
“How about–” the words tumbled out before he could think. “–we clean this up together?”
Time might as well have stopped.
He could hardly remember the last time he felt such abject embarrassment. And he’d fumbled performances while downright sloshed. Still, the question was out in the air now, small and foolish.
Mercifully, Lumine nodded.
Venti let out a breath as she followed him to the kitchen, each clink of tableware between them loosening the heavy knot in his chest by a hair.
It wasn’t much — housework, really? — but it was something. Something other than sitting in a room all day. Something good enough to spark a hint of colour back to Lumine’s eyes.
So like the good musician he was, Venti trained his ear to her rhythm, and followed.
It didn’t always work. At times he came off far too stilted, like he was trying too hard to force a dissonant chord. Other times his suggestions turned unintentionally patronising, causing a fair share of awkward silences and hapless backtracking.
To think, a god of song tripping over his own tongue.
Yet, duck-footed as it was, it worked.
She began to leave the room more often. Longer. Once, he even caught the traces of a genuine smile form on her lips as she dozed to the sounds of his music.
But there was one challenge that remained. Not a day passed where he didn’t observe her and Paimon tip toe around one another, worried glances thrown at each other’s backs when they thought the other wasn’t looking. Venti watched with growing concern, until he could no longer stomach the brittle air and the sudden cutting off of laughter between them.
Riding on a newfound, if still slightly unhinged, confidence Venti decided to attempt what he swore he would never do outside of mortal peril.
But old habits died extremely hard. So as Lumine drifted off to sleep that night to the sound of the lyre, he cast one last glance at the fairy-shaped shadow beyond the paper door and hoped that his good intentions would be enough to grant him forgiveness.
Lumine woke to the sound of birdsong.
The walls of Komore Teahouse greeted her, bathed in the gentle light of sunrise. A low, balmy draft circled through the room, bringing fresh air into the space. Soft pillows surrounded her, heavy with the scent of sun-kissed apples. A familiar green hat, topped with a fresh cecilia, sat next to her head.
She blinked at the sight. Save for them, her room was empty, a break from the routine that had settled over her recent days.
A pulse of uncertainty flickered through her.
She gathered the items into her arms, her finger tracing the edges of silken petals and soft cotton. Wordless promises to return.
She held them to her chest.
The uncertainty quieted.
Lumine let out a slow breath. A small success was still something.
Her head jerked at the sound of the door sliding open, only to meet Paimon floating in the space of the open passage. “You’re awake,” the fairy uttered in surprise.
Lumine’s fingers curled around the bard’s cap in her grip. “... Yeah,” she muttered, unsure of where to cast her gaze.
“That’s… good.” Tiny hands wrung together with restless, stilted rhythm as Paimon’s eyes darted about, seemingly searching the room. “Um, how are your bandages holding up?”
“They’re fine,” Lumine answered awkwardly, her voice sounding distant even to her own ears. With how much practice Paimon has had over the last several weeks helping her, it was hardly something to worry about.
She cringed. That Paimon had that much practice at all was horrifying.
Paimon drifted back towards the corridor, her gaze flicking away. “Thoma is making breakfast, so…” Her small voice trailed off in uncertainty, and it took everything in Lumine’s power to not shrink back.
But on the other hand, what would shying away now make her?
Tired as she was, she just wanted things to return to normal.
So she grit her teeth, and pushed past the rising tide of shame. “Paimon.”
The fairy froze, hovering at the edge of the doorway with her back to Lumine. Pressure built with each dull thud against Lumine’s ribs.
She dipped her head. “I’m sorry.”
Paimon didn’t answer. She didn’t even turn. The silence closed in rapidly, heavy and unforgiving. Even the sounds of morning outside paused.
Lumine’s throat tightened as a bead of sweat trickled down her neck. She didn’t know what to expect, only that she deserved whatever was coming.
Then, after what felt like forever:
“Do you know…” Paimon began slowly, her voice trembling, “how worried I was?”
Words rose instinctively, but Lumine bit down on her tongue. It didn’t matter if she still felt it better that Paimon hadn’t witnessed the duel. Or that following her into the fight with Ei would have been ridiculously dangerous.
She had hurt the one person who had stayed by her side since the very beginning. Her fingers tightened ever so slightly around the cecilia.
“I waited with Thoma for days. Days, Lumi!” Paimon whirled around, eyes burning. “And you didn’t send word! Not once!”
Lumine flinched.
Little hands curled into tight fists. “Then I hear that you confronted Signora! Alone!” Her voice turned shrill. “In front of the Shogun!”
“Then when everything went crazy and that freaky halo showed up in the sky, I still didn't know what was going on! I didn’t even–” she choked, “I didn’t even know if you were still alive!”
Lumine squeezed her eyes shut.
“And then!” Paimon began to shout. “And then you came back, burned, out cold, covered in blood–!” her voice pitched, “a–and still I didn’t know if–”
She sank like a stone to the floor, her entire body shaking.
The blonde stayed rooted as Paimon heaved, her shoulders trembling as she scrubbed at her face in silence. Lumine remained unmoving, afraid that even a single movement might tip some unseen balance.
Eventually, Paimon’s breathing slowed, evening into something less fragile. “Is it finally over?” she whispered, staring at the ground. “Is everything finally settled?”
Lumine nodded almost imperceptibly. “Yes.”
“Will you…” Paimon looked up, eyes shining with tears. “Will you talk to me again?”
“I…” Lumine exhaled slowly. “I will.”
Paimon did not answer right away. Her gaze flickered down, the sound of her sniffling loud in the quiet. She shifted where she collapsed, as if she wasn’t sure whether to move closer or leave. Lumine stayed still, unsure which she feared more — Paimon turning away again, or deciding not to forgive her at all.
For a long moment, the only sound between them was the distant clink of tableware down the hall. Then, without warning, Paimon inched forward… before finally shooting into her chest with an aching thud.
Lumine’s arms went around her in a flash. And the frayed knot in her chest, one that’s been pulled taut for months on end, finally loosened.
“Lumi's the biggest, dumbest, stupidest, most infuriating idiot!” Paimon thumped weakly at her ribs, the blows barely more than fluttering taps.
“... I know.”
“I'm still mad.” Paimon grumbled into her clothes. Her grip on the fabric tightened. “I’m not going to let this go so quickly.”
“I know.”
“You're not allowed to leave my sight for a month!”
Lumine hugged her closer. “Okay.”
“And if you ever, ever, do any of this again I'll–” she hiccuped, her voice breaking, “I s-swear I’ll– I’ll–!”
“And I'd deserve it,” Lumine muttered, letting the fairy sink deeper into her hold. “I'm really sorry.”
Paimon didn’t move. Her breathing gradually steadied, but her fists stayed bunched within Lumine’s clothes.
“Why didn’t you let me help you?” she whispered, her voice rough.
Lumine’s hold faltered slightly. “Because… because I got us into the whole mess.”
“No you didn't!” Paimon’s hands flew to her cheeks, aiming the blonde's eyes straight into her own. “Look at me Lumi,” the fairy growled, “this was not your fault.”
“But–”
Paimon frowned. “You were being kind. They used that. Sure, not everyone was a bad guy but it doesn't change what happened.” Lumine's shoulders slumped, unable to speak. Paimon’s hold on her slackened as she watched the blonde intently. Then, she pulled away, the lines of her shoulders softening as she let out a slow breath.
“Let’s put that aside first. What you need right now is breakfast.”
Lumine huffed softly in amusement, the act of it feeling like a dislodged puzzle piece sliding back in place. “Of course.”
Paimon rolled her eyes. “It’s the most important meal of the day.”
The jibe rose to Lumine’s lips easier this time. “Of your day.”
The fairy snorted, already halfway out the door. “Anyone who says otherwise is either too full, or delusional. I’ll go set your table. You get yourself ready.”
Just like that, the door slid shut, leaving Lumine in the quiet. A quiet that for once, no longer felt stifling.
The hat and cecilia remained close as she made herself presentable.
By the time Venti returned, the fragrance of freshly steamed rice and miso had filled the teahouse. Paimon perched at her seat, her usual chatter bubbling up between bites in noticeably longer bursts. Chatter that Lumine was better able to follow, her voice now far less hoarse than it was in the past days.
The bard caught Lumine’s eye as Thoma cheerfully weathered Paimon’s overly enthusiastic demand for seconds.
Venti lingered at the threshold, a small, timid smile on his face. The unspoken query simmered in the space between them.
His shoulders stiffened as she held his gaze. The fabric of his hat slid against her palm.
Then, she stood, reaching to set the hat back on his head. The rigid lines of his back melted away.
“You forgot this,” she mumbled shyly.
“Ah.” His grin widened in relief. “So it seems.”
He did not resist as she tugged him into the seat beside her, his voice blending seamlessly into the chatter as they settled back in.
It was good.
Then when it was time to retire for the night, a soft, familiar warmth draped itself across the back of Lumine’s neck.
“Here,” Paimon said, smoothing a viridian cape onto her frame. “You should have this back.”
Lumine’s fingers trailed across the edge of the fabric, still soft to the touch. The scent of cleaner wafted into her nose.
Venti shifted close, a gentle smile on his face. He tugged the cape over her shoulders, carefully shutting the clasp in place. “Much better.”
Breath hitching, Lumine fell into a shared embrace, her head cradled in Venti’s arms and waist squeezed by Paimon. Tears dotted the sheets of her futon, but this time, each drop loosened the frayed knot in her chest.
Lumine slept that night surrounded by warmth, her heart enveloped by a quiet peace. Not enough to banish the nightmares, but enough to grant her her first night of unbroken rest.
Night fell, and the streets of Inazuma city sat quiet under a starry sky. The stranglehold of fear over the island was beginning to fade, and the land itself seemed to be softening in relief. Gentle drafts blew over the empty streets like an exhaled breath, and small creatures scampered across cobbled alleys, finally daring to venture forth under the moon.
A lone bard lounged on a roof, porcelain cup in hand. Warm, heady sake swirled within, spreading a sweet scent into the air. Another hand trailed absently across a lyre, filling the quiet with a gentle melody. Flickers of light danced around him — tiny spirits of Electro stirring once more as the land regained its footing. He watched as they blinked from one place to the next, keeping time with each pluck of the strings.
His eyes lingered on one that hovered in the distance, hidden in shadow. Its sparks were muted, almost too faint to see, yet under his gaze it stood bright against the blanket of darkness.
“Why hello there.” Venti grinned playfully, the wind carrying his voice across the distance. “Is the music not to your liking? Could I interest you in a drink instead?”
The spark flickered. Almost as if in surprise.
“It’s quality stuff, I assure you,” he chuckled, taking a long sip. “The teahouse boss has been most generous.”
No response.
“No? Everyone in the teahouse is fast asleep, if that is your concern.” Venti leaned back to gaze at the sky. “Or are you perhaps expecting retaliation?”
It froze.
He shook his head theatrically. “I would have hoped that I made enough of an impression, even if we haven’t met much.” Then, he added cheekily. “Ah, only on matters of violence — verbal or martial — to be clear. I stand by every other instance of ridiculousness, hearsay or no.”
A flash, and the spark morphed into the god of Electro. She hung weightless in the air, her imposing figure cutting a harsh shadow through the soft edges of silver moonlight.
Venti’s gaze softened. It was like peering back in time, beholding her visage. A time where he once shared drinks with her spitting image, one who was as elegant as she was steadfast, and powerful as she was wise.
He sighed quietly. Another reminder of what they have lost.
“Beelzebul.” He raised his cup in greeting. “Or would you prefer to be addressed as Ei?”
“Barbatos,” Ei greeted stiffly. Her long braid and ornate robe fluttered in the breeze. “I have come to make a formal apology. As to your query…” Violet eyes looked away. “It does not really matter.”
“Of course it matters,” he countered gently. “If eyes are the window to the soul, then names are the anchors that help it hold. It would not do to leave that part of ourselves while we commiserate.”
Ei blinked, looking as if he had grown a second head. “Commiserate? But–” She shifted. “I do not understand.”
He fished out a second cup, flashing a small grin. “I’m here as Venti the bard. I have no intention of exacting penance from anyone. Rather hypocritical, considering how I barged in during a difficult time.”
The sound of pouring sake punctuated the quiet as he tipped the vessel in his hand. “We each do what we believe is best for our people. And I’ll just speak for myself here when I say this.” He extended the filled cup towards her, his expression turning wan. “That my best repeatedly fell short of what I hoped, or what should be. Legacies, even those born from my own past, are often hard to live up to.”
Ei stared, shocked, her gaze darting between him and the cup.
“Come now,” he urged, his tone turning slightly teasing. “Humour an old breeze won’t you?”
Gingerly, Ei lowered herself onto the roof tiles in a seiza, her movements stilted. She took the proffered drink into her hands.
“I…” She stared into the clear liquid. “It is necessary that I still apologize. I did not realise–” A shake of the head. “I realised too late that she was yours.”
He almost coughed up his drink. “She is no more mine than the birds of the air.”
Uncertainty flashed across Ei’s face. “Is she not one of your chosen? I was informed she bears the title of Honorary Knight, alongside your mark.”
“Ah, that’s what you meant.” He cleared his throat. “The title was to allow her to assist the city legally. She isn’t one of the Four Winds. Though, even if so, it still wouldn’t make her, er, mine in that sense. Or, um, any sense really." He let out a puff of laughter. “God of Freedom and all that.”
Ei’s brows furrowed slightly, her gaze lingering on him in puzzlement. “I… see.”
Venti waved a hand quickly. “But in the spirit of diplomacy, I’ll receive the apology.” He raised his cup. “You and I are good, alright?”
She looked at him, the hesitation never once leaving her expression. But slowly, Ei moved to raise her own cup. Venti broke into a bright grin. The clink of porcelain rang out between them.
Venti threw back his portion, savouring the warmth spreading down his throat. Ei took a small sip. The night breeze rustled through the distant fields.
Eventually, she spoke once more. “Is she well?”
“Getting better,” he answered, his voice hopeful. “She’s already on her feet.”
“She has remarkable fortitude,” Ei hummed. Then, casting a side-long glance, she added in a hush, “and awareness of that, it seems.”
Venti let out a sigh. “I guess it’s too much to ask for a hero to be free of burden.”
“So she pursues knowledge.”
“She pursues understanding,” Venti answered sadly.
Her brow ticked upwards. “Yet you do not stop her.”
“I cannot,” he said firmly. “And I will not. Her journey is not mine to dictate. Besides, her presence alone is a herald for the turning of the times. I can no more stop that than I could the rising of the sun.”
Ei stiffened. He could practically see the shadows behind her eyes. “How can you be sure that history won’t simply repeat?”
Venti let out a wry huff. “I can’t.”
She stared.
“But she is strong; rather scarily so at times,” he said dryly, shaking his head. “The things I’ve seen her endure are both awe inspiring and terrifying.” His tone then softened. “Yet her heart remains in the right place, even at her brink.”
He then gave Ei a meaningful look. “I guess it’s enough for me to have faith.”
She looked away.
Venti turned back to his cup. “Don’t be too hard on yourself,” he offered gently. “I’m only realising all this after recently learning that I’m a bit of a fraud.” He let out a helpless laugh. “Turns out that freedom is merely a line shy of neglect when it matters.”
Ei said nothing, her gaze still trained on her lap. Venti remained quiet, continuing to nurse his drink. He took the time to soak in the sights anew, admiring the view of the city — newly decompressed and healing — under the light of the moon.
After a while, Ei spoke once again. “Thank you,” she muttered.
“Any time. And for what it’s worth… She was always proud of you whenever we spoke.” He exhaled slowly. “We miss her too.”
Her eyes widened. Slender fingers tightened around the porcelain.
“I know we haven’t exactly been great at showing it.” He dipped his head in apology. “But let’s just say that us two old geezers finally caught up with one another recently, and found ourselves lacking.”
“So whenever you’d like, just give us a call. Morax would be more than happy to brew up his six-hour tea for a chat, and I’m right next door.” Venti chuckled heartily. He kept his head turned, pretending not to see the single tear sliding down Ei’s cheek.
He also politely ignored the sound of her clearing her throat. “... I will consider it.”
“Do actually give a heads up though,” he added with a snicker. “The old blockhead’s tea really does take six hours. Come too early and you might find your ear talked off, or me buried under a mountain. Or both.”
A light huff. Venti considered it a win.
“I will bear that in mind.” She rose from her spot, lowering the cup from her hold. “My apologies, but I must take my leave.” Her eyes finally met his. “I will not forget this graciousness… Venti the bard.”
He raised his cup once more, flashing a sunny grin. “Cheers, Raiden Ei.”
She vanished in a flash of lightning, electrograna sizzling and dull thunder rumbling in her wake.
Venti finished the last of the sake, and dispersed in a flurry of leaves.
Chapter 13: Picking Up the Pieces
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
When Lumine’s feet touched down on the steps to the Grand Narukami Shrine, she felt… odd.
The first time, she had come here with a heavy heart and wariness in her steps. The ethereal beauty of the sakura trees did nothing to stave off her unease, her mind still reeling from a mix of anger and disgust at the state of affairs.
The second, she had stormed up here, head cold with fury and tongue sharper than her blade. The serenity of the shrine mocked her as she watched Miko argue Sara down, her fingers restless and skin itching for violence.
But now?
The tranquility of the mountain was still unnerving, in a way. Too clean, too untouched, too still in light of the chaos.
She supposed it wasn’t impossible to appreciate. The ancient torii gates stood tall, reaching towards a newly cleared, orange-crowned sky. Carpets of green grass went as far and high as the eye could see, punctuated by splashes of pink petals.
Still, scenic as the place was, it wasn’t enough to stop her jaw from clenching as she faced the final flight of stairs. She folded her glider away with an unwieldy creak.
Venti materialised from the currents in a swirl of air, watching her. “It’ll be okay,” he began.
“Yeah,” Paimon chimed in, drifting close. “We won’t let them try anything funny.”
“It’s not that,” Lumine murmured.
It was everything else. Things she neither had the capacity nor courage to decide on. She turned a scroll restlessly in her hand, one wrapped in a violet shimenawa. An invitation, and a formal one at that. A promise of answers.
Answers she wasn’t sure were accessible. Promises she wasn’t sure she could even believe. The Guuji never talked straight, so why would she now? And even if she did, how much of it could be trusted to be true? Not to mention if Lumine even wanted Venti or Paimon near the woman at this point. Least of all herself.
Yet here she was anyway.
And ultimately…
“What’s the point?” she muttered, her gaze falling. A single falling petal stuck itself to her heel.
Paimon shot Venti a worried glance.
“Hey now,” Venti said, giving her hand a squeeze. “You never know.”
“Exactly.” Paimon snapped her fingers. “Like with Zhongli! He couldn’t say much, but his thing about erosion at least made what the Shogun did make some sense.” She shuddered, adding with a mutter. “Even if it still keeps me up at night.”
“It’s not like knowing is going to get him back,” Lumine mumbled through gritted teeth. Her shoulders shook as she glared at her feet. “So why?”
“Because he’s your brother,” Venti murmured, drawing her close. “He’s a part of you. It’s only natural.”
Her fingers curled. “It’s stupid.”
“Not stupid.” Venti nudged her as he shook his head. “Loyal. Hopeful. Loving,” he said. “Things that can hurt… but are still good.” He held her shoulders. “Still you.”
For a while, Lumine said nothing, her gaze hard yet distant. Paimon hovered nearby, uncertainty strewn across her features. Venti remained still, his hands on her, quietly rubbing small circles into her shoulders. He did not stir the winds, nor did he push along their tether. Instead, he took in a small breath as his heart rabbited against his ribs, holding himself in patience.
In faith.
Then, the blonde let out a frustrated groan, the sound harsh and aggrieved. “He’s always been an impulsive idiot,” she muttered under her breath. “Older sibling my ass.”
Lumine inhaled deeply, the ends of her newly trimmed hair shifting with her movements. “Once I get to the bottom of this mess,” she raised her head, meeting Venti’s eyes with a frosty but much more present gaze. Her shoulders squared ever so slightly under his touch. “I am punching the ever-loving shit out of him.”
The relief that flowed through him was as palpable as it was sweet. Still, Venti allowed himself only a tiny, if wry, smile. “Family, huh?”
She snorted. “I swear, if he ever claims elder rights again after this…”
“You’ll show him,” he answered, his delight brightening as his chest welled with pride. He reached for the cape, his touch featherlight and deliberate, centering the clasp and smoothing the cloth over her frame. “How do you want to go about this?”
Her brows furrowed deeply. “I don’t trust her. Not with this–” the scroll crumpled in her grip, “-and most certainly not with either of you.”
“If I could tell the Shogun I wouldn’t let her hurt you,” Paimon countered shakily, her face turning slightly ashen at the memory. Still, the fairy held her ground, meeting Lumine with a determined look. “I’m not going to let this fox lady do that either. I won’t let her use you again, not if I can help it.”
“And I’ve already smoothed things over with Beelzebul,” Venti said. “Her familiar won’t have any leverage.” Then, after a pause, he softened even more. “Of course, only if you want us there.”
Lumine’s gut lurched.
Not because they were putting pressure on her.
But because, despite everything she’s done, they were still trying. For her.
She couldn’t push them away again. She didn’t want to.
They deserved better.
And she would be an idiot to deny this:
If having them face Miko was bad, facing Miko alone… would be worse.
But there was one final concern that stood in the way — one they all knew.
For if Miko could be ruthlessly tight-lipped in a crisis, there was little chance that would change with a foreign Archon present.
“It’s not that I don’t want you along,” Lumine trailed off, unable to finish the thought.
This was unfair. Utterly unfair.
And damn his insight at this very moment. “I know,” Venti replied gently. His stance remained upright, expression quiet and teal eyes soft with understanding. Yet the deeper sting, the one that made him curl slightly in disappointment — she didn’t need the tether to know it was there.
Still, his hold on her remained, ever gentle and soothing. It only made the shame burn her that much more.
But before she could castigate herself, he straightened, drawing himself upward as if gathering resolve. “Then… how about this?”
He turned to Paimon with an apologetic tilt of his head. “Though, it would be best if none of the shrine maidens saw it.”
Paimon, to his surprise, simply shrugged in understanding. “I’ll keep a lookout.” She flicked her hand as she turned her gaze to the gates, shooing them away with nary a quip.
He sent the fairy a grateful smile.
Lumine followed the tug of his hand, to the safety of a large sakura trunk by the cliff’s edge. Petals swirled around them like a curtain, blocking out the rest of the world. The vast expanse of Narukami Island lay beneath.
Venti willed himself not to shake as he took both her hands in his own.
It had been millennia since he swore to honour the last remaining fragment of his friend. To let those eyes see the world beyond the walls they never escaped. To carry out a dream that died before it could take flight.
Nothing since then had ever swayed him. Not once. Not even when tempted. Not when that form still stood as a quiet monument to his greatest failure.
But this, he told himself, was a kind of honoring too.
Honouring his friend’s heart, the one who had been kind enough to befriend him when he had nothing. The one he knew, deep down, would never see this as betrayal.
And now, honoring her.
He just hoped that whatever her reaction would be, he’d still have a place by her side.
With a final, slow exhale he dissipated, dissolving into a rush of Anemo that curled around her like a breath of spring.
Lumine blinked.
There, in the space where he once stood, now floated a little white wisp. Anemo glowed at the edges of his cloak, pulsing through a single wing. A pair of beady eyes gazed shyly back at her, clouded by a mix of embarrassment and fear.
“Hey,” he breathed.
Lumine tilted her head. “Is this a disguise?”
The wisp shook its tiny head. “No… This is me. The real me.” He inhaled deeply. “Before I became a god.”
“I was once one of the Thousand Winds drifting through Mondstadt.” He shifted slightly in the air, little threads of Anemo trailing from his movements.
“The face you’ve seen all this while… belongs to that of my dear friend. The one who challenged the ruler of Old Mondstadt. So that he, and the people, could see the world beyond the tyrant’s walls.”
Lumine’s expression softened, a quiet ache flickering through her gaze.
“Truth be told,” he whispered. “I could wax poetic and say I wear his face to remember him. To help fulfil his dream.” He paused, staring off into the distance. “But at the end of the day… I just failed to save him.”
She stepped closer, but he angled his wing towards her — a slow, shielding gesture.
“You don’t need to,” he muttered, taking in a slow breath. “Not right now. That’s not the reason why I’m showing you this.”
He squared his little shoulders. “The best thing about making a divine debut in a mask that’s never changed for over two thousand years…” he added, a ghost of his usual humour leaking through, “is that no one remembers what’s underneath.”
He drifted towards her.
“This way, I can be with you, and no one will ever think it’s me. Maybe an echo, but that’s all. Not even if I fly into their faces with Anemo leaking out of my ears.” He chuckled softly. “Today, I’m just a little elemental spirit that decided to tag along.”
She felt her heart squeeze tight.
Slowly, she reached forward, cradling the little wisp within her palms. “Thank you.”
The smile came through his words. “I just hope it's enough.”
“It is,” she murmured, patting him gently on the head. Tiny feathers, soft and downy, brushed against her skin. “And you’re beautiful, you know?” she added.
Tiny eyes crinkled bashfully. “I was expecting cute, but I’ll take that over it any day.”
She observed him for a moment more. “As for Paimon… Do you want her to know?”
He blinked at her in confusion. Shaking her head, she brought him closer, enough to almost bump her nose into him. “I got the sense that this was something private,” she whispered.
“That…” he chuckled sheepishly. “I’ll admit I didn’t actually think that far.”
Her lip tilted upwards ever so slightly. “Even when you’re dropping this big a secret?”
A playful breeze puffed uselessly against her cheek. “The idea came to me only just now, alright?”
She huffed in amusement, and he found himself joining her. Under the shadow of the sakura tree, he floated close, the edges of his torso brushing against her cheek. The answer settled between them, an unspoken understanding.
Once her mirth had subsided, her tone softened once more. “Also… This doesn’t change anything. With me.”
He stilled. This close, he could feel the way the air pulsed with each breath she took, and feel every ounce of the weight of her gaze on him.
“If it's the only face you’ve worn for so long, is it really still a mask?” she murmured. “Even now, I still see the same thing.” She blinked slowly, her hair fluttering prettily in the wind. “Someone who cares. Someone who’s trying.”
He sucked in a breath, the words hitting his chest deeper than he anticipated. A rush of emotions swirled in him, dense and rapid, almost enough to bowl him over.
“Come along with me, alright?” she asked, nudging her forehead into him, a rosy pink lighting her cheeks.
He nodded slowly, the sluggishness of it making him feel a little dumb. Gradually, he drifted closer, until he bumped his little forehead into hers.
By the time they returned to Paimon, the fairy had a faintly annoyed, yet teasing smirk on her face.
“So this is your plan?” She flew up to Venti, inspecting him from head to toe. Or at least, what passed for toes. “I expected something bigger.”
“This is a highly classified transformation, thank you very much. The whole ‘undercover’ thing kind of hinges on being as discreet as possible.”
“You and your illusions,” she groused. “Is this going to end up like the Holy Lyre once more?” She paled comically. “Are we going to have to run really fast again?”
“I’ll have you know that this is completely original, and one of my finest works.” He fluttered upwards, puffing up like a proud sparrow. “No chance that this will fail.”
Paimon snorted in answer. “I’ll believe it when we don’t end up needing to jump off a cliff.”
The teasing earned a quiet chuckle from Lumine, but it didn’t reach her eyes. As her mirth faded, the hush of the shrine ahead returned. The closer they drew to the main hall, the more the air shifted. Petals no longer danced playfully; they fell slow and deliberate, as if wary of what lay ahead.
Venti stilled where he nestled against her shoulder, his earlier puffed-up pride giving way to quiet alertness.
Lumine exhaled slowly. The familiar tightness in her chest crept back in, subtle and persistent. Her gaze lifted toward the final torii gate, half-shadowed beneath the leaves.
Showtime.
They moved through the shrine, a quiet pack of three, past the temizuya and multiple haidens spaced across the courtyard. Soon, the Sacred Sakura came into full view, rising high into the sky within the honden.
And the shrine maiden turned to greet them, her robes billowing behind her.
“My, my, quite the entourage today.” The corners of her lips pulled into an artful curve. “What brings you to our humble shrine? A sign of piety, perhaps?”
“You literally invited us here!” Paimon snapped.
The kitsune snickered. “I’m joking. I’ve been waiting for you. In fact, I was beginning to think you’d never come.”
“I wasn’t exactly thrilled to,” Lumine muttered testily. She caught herself a second later, drawing in slow, measured breaths.
Paimon hovered in front of her protectively, meeting the maiden’s gaze. “You seem to be in a good mood.”
The shrine maiden chuckled, her mirth bell-like and full of fond charm. “Well, catching up with an old friend has been rather nice,” she grinned. “It’s been good to finally speak on proper terms once more.”
Her gaze drifted to the small spirit fluttering near Lumine’s shoulder. Venti made no effort to hide, flitting about lazily, calm as breeze-kissed leaves. Miko’s head tilted as a flicker passed through her expression.
“What a curious little one,” she murmured. “Where did you find this stray?”
“Uh—” Paimon darted in. “It sort of just… showed up on the way here? Didn’t seem dangerous or anything, so we let it be.”
Miko hummed, the sound noncommittal. “Most wind spirits are flighty, and tend to move along as quickly as they come.” Then her amusement came back in full force as her lips curled into a wide grin. “Though, that shouldn’t be surprising. I hear from Ei that you’ve made quite the friend with a certain wind god.”
Lumine’s back tensed. “Is that going to be a problem?”
“Between you and me? None whatsoever.” She waved a hand dismissively, as if brushing aside a loose petal. “That’s Ei’s mess to untangle. I try not to dip my hands into inter-Archon affairs unless they’re actually fun.”
Lumine released a breath and uncurled her fingers. “Is that why she isn’t here right now?”
“Possibly,” Miko said airily. “Or she’s sulking in a corner of Tenshukaku, trying to make sense of the very important lessons I imparted. Who’s to say?”
She let her eyes drift briefly toward the little Anemo wisp still hovering silently near Lumine’s shoulder. And then, just as quickly, it softened into bemused detachment.
“After all, some mistakes weigh far heavier than others,” she added gently, her gaze flicking to the bandages covering Lumine’s skin. “Our resident electric princess is about as constipated as they come — too much pride, and too much she left frozen in time. So if you’re willing to take my word for it…”
Miko let out a dry chuckle. “This absence of hers is probably the closest thing to contrition you’re going to get for now.”
Lumine’s silence was sharp, her unimpressed glare holding much longer than was polite.
The curve of Miko’s lips thinned. “And yes… that mistake includes me. I won’t pretend that I gave you a real choice. Inazuma needed you, and thus I made it happen.” Her robes fluttered with her movements as she regarded Lumine with uncharacteristic seriousness. “It was not kind. And for that, you have every reason to hate me. Hate us all, even.”
She held Lumine’s heated gaze quietly. Then, after a moment, she added. “Nonetheless, you still saved our home. And for that, I will find a way to balance the scales. Until then…” Her expression melted back to its usual foxlike amusement. “You’re welcome to keep glaring at me.”
Lumine stared, her own lips pressing into a thin line. It was hard to describe what she was feeling. It wasn’t forgiveness; hardly. Even now the pain, physical and otherwise, was still there, present in every step she took and decision she made.
But the woman before her had the grace to not sugarcoat the matter.
She supposed it was a start.
Lumine unclenched her jaw. “Fine,” she muttered. “But I didn’t come here for this.”
“No you didn’t.” Miko angled her head towards the blonde. “Whatever it is you seek, go ahead and ask.”
“Before that,” Lumine began tersely. “My terms.”
“I only want the honest truth. No riddles, no philosophical bullshit.”
Then, a frustrated sigh. “I understand that knowledge has a steep price in this world. That there are things that cannot simply be said.” Her shoulders dipped. “Secrets and wounds not even the gods can freely touch, much less heal.”
Venti drifted close, his presence cooling her cheek. The faintest trace of sorrow ghosted across the tether, a bittersweet twinge budding beneath her ribs.
She nudged a pulse back, the memory of him shaking under divine pressure still fresh in her mind. He’d tried.
The scent of apple-tinged winds came in answer.
“But I have no interest in squeezing water from stone. So either cut the shit and give what you can straight, or not at all.”
She leveled a steady, challenging glare. “Are you agreeable?”
Miko did not flinch. “Of course. It’s the least we can do.”
The weight in Lumine’s chest loosened, just enough to let her take in a deep breath.
And through the ache, she asked about her first memory in Teyvat that had started it all.
But of course, the answer was always going to fall short.
“I’m not familiar with this god you describe.” Miko’s brows furrowed as she took in the query. “Ei has never mentioned such a figure. Though I’m not surprised, considering she severed her ties with Celestia long ago.”
“Wait, really?” Paimon blurted out loud. Even Venti’s carefree nonchalance seemed to waver at the edges, though he maintained his aimless drifting.
“She gave up her Gnosis not long after she returned from that war. It’s why it ended up with me to begin with.”
Lumine wasn’t sure whether to feel disappointed. At least, she wasn’t surprised. “You’re referring to Khaenri’ah,” she said, shoving the sour mix of ache and resignation aside.
Miko nodded. “Though, if you want specifics, I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint once more.”
Naturally.
“I wasn’t personally involved there. As for Ei… well, you saw what she saw, didn’t you?”
Lumine nodded stiffly.
“Though now that I think about it,” Miko hummed. “Inazuma was invaded around the same time that disaster occurred. Hordes of abyssal monsters showed up out of nowhere just as Makoto went away.”
Lumine frowned. “That doesn’t sound like a coincidence.” But how could a nation’s dabbling in the Abyss have led to an invasion on an island in the middle of an ocean?
Then again, where was Khaenri’ah even?
For once, Miko’s sharp insight wasn’t pointed towards her. “Indeed. I can’t say for sure how they did it, or where they came from,” the shrine maiden said somberly, her hand on her chin. “But from what little Ei was willing to share, was the place where the destruction was greatest.”
“Look into the deserts of Sumeru. The epicenter of the curses born that day, and the location of the gods’ final stand.”
The shrine maiden shifted, her long pink hair swaying. “As for your brother, we will use whatever resources we have to keep a lookout. I’m sure the Shuumatsuban will be more than willing to assist. Consider it our way of repaying you.”
Lumine felt the weight on her lessen slightly. Nonetheless, it took some effort to look the shrine maiden square in the eye as she muttered her thanks.
To her surprise, the ever-present grin on Miko’s lips took on an almost saddened tilt. “Don’t thank me just yet,” she said. “A long road still lies ahead.”
She didn’t need to be told twice. Her skin itched under her remaining bandages as she released a low breath. Venti brushed warm winds around her shoulders, the air grazing her arms with featherlight touches.
“Now then.” Miko straightened. “Is there anything else you wished to ask about?”
Steadying herself, she cast her gaze beyond the shrine’s outskirts. The perpetual storm that curled around the horizon had vanished, and white clouds now dotted the open skies. Birdcalls, once absent, now filled the lightened air, interspersed with the ever-present yet soothing crackle of Electro. Even without her special sight it was clear how the element was crucial to the island — seeping into even the stones; weaving between earth, root and sky to nourish every plant and being.
Here at the summit, despite being far above all, it wasn’t hard to see how the land itself was softening in relief. Thrumming, breathing, and alive once more.
This must have been what it was like before everything, a small part of her noted dimly. Before lightning turned from providence to a prison, before people went from living to simply trying to not die.
The question rose to her lips before she could stop it.
“What kind of god takes this away from her people?” She muttered, more to herself than anything.
“One who let loss shape her ideals,” Miko answered. “One who tried, but has yet to learn her predecessor’s vision in full.”
Lumine’s disgust was instant. “You can't possibly tell me she hoped a puppet would take her sister’s place.” The mere idea was vile.
The Guuji shrugged. “Of course nothing can ever match Raiden Makoto. Not her wisdom, nor her gentility. But you’ve seen Ei, she’s as uncreative as they get,” she scoffed. “I daresay her rigidity can give the Lord of Geo a run for his money.”
At their silence, Miko explained. “Since its beginning, Inazuma was ruled jointly. Makoto took the helm as the official Archon while Ei served in the shadows as her kagemusha, the brawn to Makoto’s gentle brain. As far as the people were concerned, there was only ever one god.”
“So when disaster struck… Ei could only respond with what she knew. The people continued to venerate their god, unaware that a crucial half to the throne was lost forever, and with no understanding as to why their once gentle god had gone ice-cold.”
Miko sighed, turning her head to the Sacred Sakura that towered overhead.
“Storms, stagnation, suffering… all polar opposites to what Makoto had envisioned for this land.” Miko shook her head, her voice thinning with something close to pity. “It’s little wonder that Ei hasn’t been able to look in a mirror since.”
The rush hit Lumine like a punch. Her jaw clamped down, and iron bloomed across her tongue.
But the kitsune caught it anyway. “I’m not excusing her, just giving more context to what she’s made us all endure.” Then, tone dipping, she added. “Grief can lead to poor choices.”
Lumine’s chest cinched tight; a sharp, burning coil beneath her ribs while her heart pounded in her ears. Fingers curled, digging crescents into her palms. Her face stayed blank, a frozen mask, her spine a steel rod. For one wild, blinding moment, she wanted nothing more than to leave, answers be damned.
Paimon darted in, grabbing her fists with tiny, worried hands. Venti lurched close, brushing the soft edge of his wing against her shoulder, gentle but frantic. The tether between them sputtered under her pressure, flickering like a candle in the wind.
Only sheer, stubborn will kept Lumine standing.
“Though, on that note,” Miko's voice threaded in again, muffled under the rush in Lumine’s ears. “This next thing might be important for you to know.”
“What now?” Lumine growled, eyes squeezing shut. A dull ache pulsed behind her eyelids.
“Among Ei’s wonderful list of questionable choices was delving into the lost art of puppetry. To achieve her crowning model that is the Shogun, she had to first make a prototype.”
Paimon tensed. “Don’t tell me there are three Raiden Shogun’s running around?”
Miko huffed, though it came off more rueful than anything. “That would be an absolute nightmare, wouldn’t it? But no, it was a male puppet; modeled after a short, beautiful youth. When Ei found it unfit for her purposes, she sealed its powers away and left it to wander Inazuma for years.”
Lumine groaned, a bone-deep sound slipping free as the pieces began clicking into place. “Of fucking course,” she muttered, pressing her temples.
Miko huffed, her dry amusement laced with something dark. “A cruel twist of fate, don’t you think? And what an insidious little monster he’s become under the Fatui’s influence.”
“A monster with a Gnosis.”
“I won’t apologise for what I traded it for,” the shrine maiden interjected, an undertone of warning within her words. “But I thought it best that you have some context.” Her next words came as fast as a dagger, sharp and all teeth. “Since he’s made an enemy of you.”
“Uh, thanks for the vote of confidence, I guess?” Paimon mumbled, scratching her head.
“Just know that he is not one of us. Thus, if fate makes you cross paths once more, you need not pull any punches.”
The words hung between them like a dreadful drone of divine ordinance. Miko held the silence, observing the rigid lines of Lumine’s shoulders, fox eyes tracing the barely concealed scars on the blonde’s fists.
Then, with a blink, her teasing expression returned — the razor’s edge to her stance melting away. “Perhaps that’s enough gloom for one day. A final question, if you would allow.”
Lumine, no longer trusting herself to speak, simply answered with a tired stare.
“What is your ambition, Traveler? What has given you cause to endure all that you have?”
Paimon bristled immediately, placing herself between them. “Isn’t it obvious?”
But the kitsune merely shifted her gaze past the fairy, toward the blonde whose shoulders were still taut with tension.
“Reunion is noble,” Miko said, almost gently. “But it is still a goal of the present. In Teyvat, true ambition is one’s ikigai — the purpose that roots you, steadies you, that transcends the world below and sky above to reshape fate itself.”
Lumine dragged in a slow breath. She placed a hand on Paimon’s arm and drew the fairy back, her voice low and thin. “I told you to skip the philosophical crap.”
“It’s not a lecture.” Miko held her gaze. “Merely something to consider. Perhaps the reason you do not bear a Vision is that your purpose has yet to take shape. Keep that in mind as you walk forward.”
Lumine’s jaw tightened. “Are we done?”
Miko regarded her for a brief, unreadable moment, something thoughtful flickering behind the smile, before folding herself into a perfectly elegant bow.
“Yes,” she said. The branches of the Sacred Sakura swayed in the wind. “May we meet in lighter circumstances, should you grace our shores again.”
Lumine swept out of the gates in a whirl of leaves, Paimon and Venti in tow.
“Okay,” Paimon said aloud as they landed back at the doors of Komore Teahouse. “We need a serious vacation.”
At Lumine’s raised brow, she doubled down, planting her fists on her hips. “This whole place has been nuts. We are not going anywhere new until we all take a well-deserved break.”
A warm palm settled on her shoulder. She turned, meeting teal eyes soft with a quiet, hopeful shyness. “I’ll have to agree,” Venti murmured. Then, with a gentle squeeze, he continued. “Sumeru isn’t going anywhere. Rest, so we can face the road ahead standing, rather than stumbling.”
Lumine’s first instinct was to argue. Her first proper, solid lead in months — a direction that wasn’t just chasing rumour and shadow — and they wanted to… pause?
But, a dim, hollowed out voice in her head echoed. Won’t this just be repeating the same mistake?
Yes, the whole island had been a giant shitshow. Yes, she’d messed things up. And yes, she was still a tad unsteady on her feet, even if she’d rather eat her sword than admit it aloud.
But beneath it all, even as the bandages came off and scars faded, lay one undeniable truth:
If she hadn’t jumped headfirst onto the Alcor–
If she had just stopped to think–
Perhaps it wouldn’t have spiraled this badly.
The ache in her chest, the burnt, hollowed part of her that still pulled toward a thread of aetherial gold – one she’d avoided for months – flickered dimly behind the wall of void.
Like he said, wisdom had never really been her strong suit.
But, after all she’s been through… did it really have to stay that way?
She might have messed up, but god damn it she was going to fail forward if that was what it took.
Her hand reached to catch Venti’s before he could pull away.
“You’re right,” she muttered, meeting Paimon’s worried gaze. “Both of you.”
Paimon released a breath that was part pride and part relief. “Then what are we waiting for? Let’s pack our bags and get going! Preferably somewhere with lots of food.”
Lumine snorted. “And sun. I’ve seen enough thunderstorms to last a lifetime.”
Venti brightened instantly, his grin blooming like a dawn breeze.
“Well then,” he said, voice lilting with a touch of mischief and unmistakable warmth, “do I have the place to recommend.”
Sweet winds, carrying with the scent of flowers and dew, breezed in response. Cool currents brushed past her cheek and threaded soft fingers through her hair. Venti’s eyes glowed faintly in the sunlight, the colour of faraway skies. A promise of cloudless spring and verdant green.
She felt something real loosen in her chest. Enough for her to break into a small, quiet smile.
And for once, Lumine looked forward to tomorrow.
Notes:
And that wraps up the Inazuma arc! Stay tuned for the vacation chapter!
Chapter 14: To Heal
Notes:
An update to round out the year. Have a good new year ahead!
Chapter Text
The first day, nothing really changed.
It was hardly surprising. One couldn’t just erase weeks of suffering with a mere change of scenery.
Not that said scenery had no effect. The sight of clear skies, rolling hills and actually happy people was a godsend.
“Ehe~ you’re welcome.”
“Oh shush, Tone-Deaf Bard.”
But Lumine was still herself, scars and all, and thus simply dipping her toes into the idyllic landscapes of the land of wind wasn’t going to immediately reverse weeks of constant stress. Her shoulders still jumped at sudden footsteps, her fingers still twitched towards the hilt at raised voices. It would take time to undo all the things she did to stay moving, to stay alert. To let herself sleep without her blade in reach, to trust that the next person who walked up to her didn’t have some nefarious agenda.
Then again, she was on a mandated — “yes Lumi, mandated” — vacation. Time was in abundance.
Not to mention the ever-present warning of having her “face tied to the bed” if she so much as thought of doing more than was necessary. She still wasn’t entirely sure how Paimon would enforce her favourite threat, but the fire in the fairy’s eyes promised an honest-to-god effort. The gentle chiding in Venti’s voice guaranteed an actual god’s effort too.
Seasoned survivalist that she was, Lumine recognised a stacked fight when she saw one. So she kept her promise — “yes Paimon, promise” — and played by the rules.
The first day passed.
Then the next.
And the next.
By the end of the first week, things began to fall into a semi-predictable rhythm. One of slow walks, meals, and quiet sightseeing. Days where she perused the markets or wandered the streets, and nights spent at Angel’s Share. The full Mondstadt experience, Venti said.
It helped that the buzz around her return died down quickly. It certainly made staying out of the spotlight and slipping into routine that much easier. Although, given Diluc’s stern gaze and lingering presence near her seat in the tavern each night, and Jean’s staunch refusal to let Lumine stay a day longer in the city’s inns, instead directing her to a small room in Headquarters — the prominent figures of Mondstadt definitely had a hand in that transition.
She wasn’t going to complain, her Traveler’s pride be damned.
Still, it didn’t stop her questioning gaze from landing on the bard when he entered Jean’s office midway. His hands shot up in surrender.
“I had no hand in this offer, I swear.” The glimmer in his expression looked innocent enough. “Do I look like the sort that would compel Master Jean to do such a thing?”
Her eyes narrowed. “The bottle you swindled for nothing from that poor barkeep last night says otherwise.”
“Lumine!” Her name rang playfully from his lips, his breathy declaration framed by a flair of theatrical hurt. She did her best to mask how the sound of it from him made her feel. Not difficult, given the very punch-able, shit-eating grin that was also on his face. “It was a gift, freely given!”
“Just as this offer is,” Jean intoned calmly, her words sincere and posture free of deception. “So don’t worry.”
Lumine sighed, letting her shoulders ease. She’d spent enough time pushing help away. The least she could do now was to accept it with grace, whatever shape it took.
She slipped into the barstool in the tavern once more that night, per her routine. Only to notice that the seat beside her remained empty, and a filled glass already present before her.
Diluc, still stubbornly stationed at her table like a dour guardian, simply shrugged. “You’ll see.”
That was when her attention was called to the stage. More accurately, the attention of the entire tavern alongside her.
Venti hopped up to the platform, lyre in hand and a playful smile on his lips. With nothing more than a flourish of his hand and an artful bow, he dove into his performance.
But if she thought she knew what music could be like, Lumine was about to be shown otherwise.
She stared, transfixed, as she watched Venti dance across the stage, lively music guiding his steps. Rhythmic stomps underpinned the energetic tune, the bard using voice, string and limbs to paint an invisible portrait through sound. Crowned by powerful yet youthful vocals, it did not take long for the lively shanty to have tables thumping and voices echoing the chorus at him. Ebon hair, dark as the night, bounced as he moved, framing his fair skin and bright eyes. He was hardly the largest person in the room, yet he commanded every inch of it, tavern-goers jumping and singing along in tandem. Even she couldn’t resist the tune’s magnetic pull, her foot tapping and the corners of her mouth lifting as the thunder of boots hitting wood pulsed through her.
Song after song went by, and the energy of the tavern never seemed to wane. Rather, it swelled and surged with every performance, the bard’s voice seemingly rousing even the air in the place into electric celebration, till every occupant was on their feet hollering in joy, with Venti as the sole conductor — a shining beacon of merriment at the heart of it all.
Delight bloomed on his face, as polished as it was dazzling. Each and every listener was shot a winning smile, bright with laughter and appreciation.
Then his gaze fell on her.
And the performer’s grin shifted into something different.
Something deeper.
The tether gave a faint, startled flutter, as if it too had been caught by surprise.
She blamed the wine for the heat under her cheeks.
When he was finally allowed to leave the stage — to the dismay of the entire tavern — he asked what she thought of it. The question came with the usual lilt of playfulness, but there was no missing the sheepish, embarrassed undertone in it.
It made no sense that someone that comfortable on stage would be this shy.
It didn’t stop her from giving the honest truth.
“I really enjoyed it.”
He beamed, almost in relief. Then, with renewed confidence, he added with a satisfied smirk. “Now you’ve received a proper Mondstadtian welcome.”
She huffed in amusement, even as her chest warmed like a crackling hearth, heated embers shifting beneath her ribs. “Is that what this was about?”
“Hey, it’s tradition! Sights, wine and song!”
Lumine truly blamed the drink for what slipped out of her mouth next.
“Looks like I got all three in one go.”
It took all her self-control to not implode on the spot.
Venti’s smile stuttered; his voice returned strangled, and a beat too late. “W–well.” He coughed. “A bard’s aim is to please, after all. Is that not right, Master Diluc?”
She quietly thanked the stars for Diluc’s presence, even if the man suddenly looked like he’d rather be anywhere else.
Paimon, however, spared no such mercy.
Lumine had to sleep to the sound of the fairy laughing her ass off.
Then came the visits.
It wasn’t surprising. Quiet as her return had been, she was still the Honorary Knight who fought alongside the Knights of Favonius. They weren’t going to forget their comrade-in-arms.
But what was surprising was how they heard… and who showed up first.
“Kaeya?”
Lumine’s eyes blinked rapidly as she processed the sight of the Cavalry Captain leaning languidly against the wall, a satisfied smirk on his lips as he lifted a basket of glass bottles towards her. His Vision gleamed under the rays of sunlight peeking through windows to bathe the hall, and this close Lumine could spy the thin layers of frost coating the glass.
The last she heard, the man had been out in the wilds as far as Old Mondstadt. So to behold him here, his garb still fresh with traces of the outdoors and his usually immaculate hair windswept, was definitely unexpected.
And somehow, he’d known where to find her, with time to spare and chilled drinks in hand.
“Long time no see.” He flashed a handsome, toothy grin, the whites of his teeth in stark contrast to bronzed skin. “Care for a little gourmet tasting?”
Her brows rose in mild confusion, while her mind fizzled in a sleepy haze. “Kaeya, the sun rose barely an hour ago.” It was obvious in the still brightening spaces around them, and from the gentle snoring of Paimon drifting out from deeper within the room.
The cheshire grin on the man’s face remained. “So?”
“So, I’d rather not be accused of enabling a Captain to drink on the job inside Headquarters.” She knew her room was basically a repurposed rest bay, but that simply meant it wasn’t that far away from the offices. Or away from any other knights on duty. Hell, Jean’s office was merely one floor away.
Kaeya laughed heartily, the sound slightly rough and tinged with a roguish timbre. Rather different, she noted, from the breezy lilt she’s gotten used to. She shook her head quickly — her morning brain was a traitor all on its own.
“Would you feel better if I said I was on a break?” Kaeya leaned in. His single, uncovered eye shone with practiced charm. This close, it was impossible to miss the lingering bandages on her exposed skin or the new patchwork of scars that covered her.
But his expression remained one of annoyingly focused appeal.
She supposed it made her feel thankful.
Gathering her wits, she tucked her arms against her chest. “Assuming I believe it, maybe. But less irresponsible? No.” Even so, she nudged the door open, angling her body inwards. It was only polite after all. Plus, the gift was thoughtful, even if the timing was unconventional. “I’m not getting sloshed at the ass crack of dawn.”
A tiny flash, and a small icy star appeared atop the decorated basket. “Not even for me?”
Lumine snorted. She may not have truly known the Cavalry Captain long, but fighting and camping alongside someone was often a lot faster than simple socialising. Which was to say, Lumine knew quite well this little game the one-eyed man enjoyed playing.
“Nope,” she slung back easily, letting the consonant pop loudly on her lip.
Then, she allowed herself a dry jab. It rolled off her tongue, still a little foreign, but noticeably light. “But I won’t look a handsome gift horse in the mouth.”
Kaeya laughed again, and this time the sound was much less polished and far warmer. “I knew there was a reason I liked you.”
She led him to the tiny sitting area within the room. “You aren’t actually planning on getting shit-faced are you?”
“Of course not,” he huffed good-naturedly, lowering the basket onto the table. “It would be unbecoming to do so in a fair lady’s private quarters.”
“How knightly of you, Sir Alberich.”
“Now you’re just wounding my fragile little heart.”
Lumine rolled her eyes. There was nothing fragile about someone who likely rushed back through bands of wandering monsters to entertain a visitor. But it definitely made that rough, tattered part of her warm ever so slightly.
“Ah,” he paused as he laid out the wine glasses. “I was expecting someone else to be present.”
Red flared on her face in an instant. “W-wha–?”
Kaeya’s lips curled into a teasing and wholly unrepentant smirk. “But I guess it’s too early to hope for Paimon to emerge from your bed, isn’t it?”
Lumine growled, snatching the glass from his hand. This time, the man’s laughter was fully directed at her.
“I can and will throw you out.”
Sparkling liquid quickly filled the flute in her hand. “Maybe this will change your mind.”
It was with begrudging reluctance that her mind was indeed changed after the first sip.
By the time her taste buds were satisfied, the sun had fully climbed into the sky, flooding her humble room with bright light.
Kaeya bid her a mirth-filled goodbye, just barely able to hide his amusement at her squeaky request to let her keep the remainder of the drinks. It was purely as a courtesy, she’d insisted.
“Of course.” He smiled just a little too knowingly as he nudged a bottle towards her. “Just remember that this is his favourite.”
She shoved him right out the door.
Days later, Lumine opened her door once more, this time to a refined lady standing at her doorway, her violet dress an artful splash against the stone walls and her witches’ hat perched gracefully atop her brow.
“Well hello cutie~” the Librarian teased. “Glad to see you in one piece.”
“Lisa!” Paimon greeted enthusiastically. Then, with a blink, her expression turned into one of confusion. “Hold on, aren’t you supposed to be at work?”
“A little bird told me that you were back for a vacation.” Rosy lips pulled into a cat-like smirk. “What better time to enjoy some afternoon tea together?”
Lumine huffed. “Does that bird happen to wear an eyepatch?”
“Now now, you know a lady doesn’t kiss and tell,” the witch snickered. “But I will say that our dear Cavalry Captain still has a lot to learn.” Painted eyes darted to every corner of the room, tracing the lines of the utilitarian space. A humble mattress on a frame, sans any true comfort or plushness. Clean stone walls devoid of personal decor. A small sitting area, furnished with the simplest of tables and stools. The blonde’s lone Favionian blade resting by the bedside, the steel blessedly clean but still within easy reach.
Lisa clicked her tongue in mild disapproval. “An early nightcap in a tiny, boring corner of Headquarters hardly constitutes a warm welcome. And while we do have the best wines one can hope for, it’s rather touristy don’t you think?”
“Are you sure you’re not just finding an excuse to put something off?” Lumine ribbed lightly. If there was one thing she remembered about the elegant lady, it was her refusal to do more than she deemed necessary. Alongside a paradoxically ruthless work ethic for the things she did willingly preside over. The woman wasn’t a highly feared and respected witch for nothing.
Which made her presence here, silently cataloging the room like it was one of her prized bookshelves rather than at her desk for a nap, quite telling all on its own.
But true to her refined demeanour, the witch did not make any further comment. “Whatever do you mean?” Lisa laughed easily, any tension dissolving rapidly under a bell-like and elegant mirth. “I’m just offering to bring you out of this stuffy old place to the best dessert spots in the city. After all, with all the hubbub, you likely haven’t had the chance to try them, haven’t you?”
Paimon snapped to attention immediately. “We’re listening.”
Lumine gave the fairy a half-hearted shove. Though, it didn’t manage to stop the faintest tug from pulling at the corner of her lips.
Dessert, and a couple of hours of not needing to think about what to do next… sounded like a wonderful idea.
The pleased grin on the Electro witch’s face widened.
Lumine went to bed that night with a belly full of sugar. Along with a throw rug, a fluffy pillow and a tasteful table cloth — courtesy of the dread Librarian’s legendary methods of persuasion.
Because heaven help anyone who tried to keep Lisa’s blonde darling from enjoying what she deemed a proper Mondstadtian welcome.
At the tail end of yet another week, Lumine was woken by the sound of a sharp rap on her door.
That was all the warning she got before the door burst open and she found herself enveloped in a warm hug.
“Hey hey hey!” Amber cheered, her lips pulled into her signature megawatt smile. “Welcome back hotshot!”
Her rest hadn’t quite granted Lumine the ability to match the Outrider’s energy just yet. And perhaps she never will, for the girl was practically a walking ball of self-powered sunshine. But the city’s sights and sounds, coupled with a healthy flow of wine and cider certainly made her more agreeable to it; such sincerity and cheer was always guaranteed to be infectious. “Good to see you too, Amber.”
The Pyro archer gave them a happy once over, her mood never faltering at what she saw. “Just good?” she teased with a bright, sunny grin. “Ah, I’m joking. I heard you’ve been cooped up for a while, so I came to help.”
Lumine blinked. “Heard from who?” she asked, though she was beginning to suspect that no one was going to answer that question.
And yet somehow, that fact didn’t trouble her in the slightest.
She was proven right when Amber shooed the thought away. “Does it matter? Your day’s about to get a whole lot better.” The Outrider hefted a pack upwards with a proud puff to her chest. “Guess who gets to come try our brand spanking, new and improved gliders?”
There was no hiding the longing gleam in Lumine’s eyes. Rest was good for her — necessary, even — but she had never been good with domesticity. Or staying put. Even less so, when one knew that she learned to fly alongside walking.
Of course, Amber had no such knowledge, but the Outrider Knight had a good eye for those who shared her love of flying and adventure.
Lumine turned to Paimon, restless hope shining through a barely restrained shift forward.
The fairy crossed her arms like a disgruntled mother hen. “Your last bandage just came off.”
“Yeah, which means I’m recovered.”
A disapproving twitch.
“Come on, I’ve been good,” the blonde grumbled, her bargain taking on a comical tinge of mild desperation. “You saw it yourself.”
“Worry not!” Amber, ever savvy, snapped a crisp salute. “This glider is top-of-the-line stuff, triple-checked for safety by yours truly. Plus, while I was on my way over, I got good reassurance that we’re going to have great weather conditions today.”
A splash of green peeked up from behind the Pyro archer, complete with bright laughter and a cheeky wink.
“Indeed,” Venti chuckled, looking for all intents and purposes like he had just happened to follow Amber to their doorstep. Neither resident of the room believed it for a second. “My Vision tells me that the winds are going to be particularly suitable today.”
Amber nodded enthusiastically. “So what do you say, Paimon? Can I have your permission to bring our hotshot to stretch her wings a little?”
The fairy held her ground, or rather, she tried — but she knew that her position was doomed when Lumine’s gaze began to morph into an honest-to-god pout.
With a loud sigh, Paimon let her shoulders drop. “Fine.” She jabbed a stern finger in Venti’s direction. “But your Vision better not be wrong.”
“I swear by Barbatos,” he grinned.
Amber raised her hands in a placating gesture. “Oh there's no need for that! Spring winds are the gentlest and steadiest there are. But if it helps, I’ll offer a handful of dandelion seeds to Lord Barbatos for his blessing.”
The bard strummed a playful melody, waving the pair along. “And I'll make sure it reaches him with a tune.”
Permission granted, strong hands tugged Lumine out the door and down the cobbled streets. “Come on!” Amber beamed, her eyes bright with breathless laughter. Already, the winds were stirring about them with every step, cupping their backs and ruffling hair. “I’ll bring you to my favourite take-off spot!”
A quiet chuckle tumbled out of Lumine’s lips. “Is my gliding license still valid?”
“Valid schm-alid, I’ll verify it myself if I have to!”
Whether it was the weight of that infectious grin or her own cabin fever finally easing, Lumine’s legs quickly broke into a steady run. With a final, gleeful cry, Amber launched herself off the elevated platform, her glider opening with a proud snap.
As she watched the currents pull the Outrider high above the rooftops, Lumine marveled. At the vast city that lay before her, far as the eye can see; at the expanse of blue, unclouded skies that stretched overhead.
A warm gust curled past her cheek, bringing encouraging whispers and gentle melodies into her ear. And beneath its breezy touch, an inviting smile.
She couldn’t help it.
Lumine’s glider snapped open, a loud whoop spilling forth from her lips as she sailed into the air.
Of course, the reality of an extended vacation was bound to rear its head eventually.
“Ah crap,” Lumine muttered as she peered into her coin pouch. The bag had gotten distressingly light, something that would have caught her attention far earlier, if it wasn’t for Paimon’s insistent enforcement of ‘vacation rules’. Among which included the clause of no fussing over mora.
Well, Lumine noted with a huff. Guess that enforcement ended today.
Paimon’s brow creased immediately. “You are not going monster hunting.”
Lumine shot the fairy an affronted look. “I haven’t even said anything.”
“Yeah, but you were thinking it,” Paimon huffed. Scratching her head, she turned to Venti, who had shown up early to their lodgings this morning. “Any ideas on how to make some mora?” Tiny hands shot up pre-emptively. “That involves proper work!”
Venti reeled with mock offence. “To suggest that my profession isn’t proper–”
“Not your bard-ing, your mooching,” Paimon snapped.
He didn’t miss a beat. “To suggest my professional mooching isn’t proper–”
Paimon dissolved into a ball of flailing arms and frustrated growls, held back only by Lumine’s outstretched hand. The bard remained blissfully — and infuriatingly — out of reach.
“Let’s just hope that there’s more than monster bounties available today,” Lumine muttered.
He hummed. “Only one way to find out.”
The Guild did, in fact, have more than monster bounties on hand.
Katheryne slid a list across the desk readily. “Please note that low-risk commissions come with lower compensation rates than others.”
Lumine gave a noncommittal shrug. “I’m on vacation.”
“Understood. Just let me know which of these you would like to take up!”
Lumine studied the list, her eyes trailing down each entry, until one caught her attention. “Lost kites?”
“Ah, this came in as a rather urgent request today. A young man had several of his mechanical kites damaged after they hit the hillsides and trees outside the city,” the receptionist explained. “They’re stranded at height, so he filed for assistance to retrieve them.”
Paimon eyed the figure listed by the request. “This is a lot of mora for a bunch of lost toys.”
“The kites are custom-made and apparently quite important to him. Hence the larger reward.” She looked at Lumine, hands poised to log the task. “So, would you be willing to take on this request? I can direct you to him right away if you need.”
Lumine nodded. Mora was mora, and a quick top-up was always welcome.
Besides, it was just climbing after lost kites. How hard could it be?
“DUCK!”
Lumine dove to the ground, narrowly avoiding a small fleet of winged automatons. The constructs whirled in the air, swerving and zipping erratically, yet somehow constantly homing in on them like heat-seeking missiles.
“How the hell are these ‘kites’?!” she yelled. Behind her, a young man in smart clothes cowered beneath a tree, trying and failing to shield himself.
“They are kites!” He jumped out of the way of another swoop. “As in the bird!”
“Bloody murder birds, you mean!”
“You told Katheryne they were toys!” Paimon screeched as one sailed past her. “I CALL FALSE ADVERTISING!”
“They are, I swear!” He ducked again, this time yelping as a kite missed him by a hair’s breadth. “They’re prototypes! I thought the crash totaled the motors, but they somehow reactivated just as you arrived! Now I can’t turn them off!”
Lumine swore loudly as a kite the size of a bowling ball zoomed past, clipping the trunk of a nearby tree. Bark splintered with a loud crack.
The young man’s face paled. “Please, they’re just part of a research project!” he pleaded. “They’re not supposed to be like this!”
Her mind raced. They were moving too fast to pin down easily. And time spent focused on one was a blind spot for the others.
Getting hit wouldn’t kill her, of course. Hardly. But she had no intention of nursing another set of bruises.
She didn’t want to imagine the disappointment in their eyes if she willingly weathered such an injury. Or the nagging.
Lumine swore. The best way was to take them down in one fell swoop. But how? The constructs whirled in and out of formation like drunken buzzards, fanning and spreading like a stubborn mist. Nothing she could manage was large enough to hit them all at once, or pull them all in–
A whoosh, but not from the kites.
The air around her pulled tight in an instant. Lazy drafts whipped into a cacophonous rush.
Winds twisted and bellowed around them, and the group watched as a giant ball of Anemo, mighty and turbulent, spun into being. Dirt and grass and debris flew as the vortex swelled rapidly in size, swallowing the fleet into its windy, gaping maw. Mechanical motors sputtered uselessly against the pull, the kites dragged like helpless flies into the center. They slammed into each other with a sharp crack, metal wings spun into knots.
Then the energy dispersed, and the air snapped back into balmy calm. The defeated automatons fell to the grass, their motors finally silent.
Venti lowered his bow, dropping out of his shooting stance with nary a bead of sweat or a hair out of place.
“Sorry, was that too much?” he said sheepishly. “Is everyone alright?”
“We’re fine,” Lumine murmured. She hadn’t even seen the arrow fly. One moment it had been wild winds and whirring metal, the next — soft, cooling breezes drifting by her dress.
His shoulders softened in relief as he approached. “Ah good, I got a little worried there.” Then, his expression shifted into puzzlement. “Is there something on my face?”
“No,” she answered quickly.
He blinked again, before his lips curved upwards slightly. “Come on,” he whispered with a hint of cheek. “This isn’t the craziest thing you’ve seen me do.”
He was right. She’d flown in his storm currents, seen him twist and shape tornadoes the size of towers.
So why was she stuck with this sense of… whatever this was?
Idiot. You know exactly what this is.
Then, Venti’s brows furrowed as his gaze homed in on her arm. “You got cut.”
Her eyes flicked down in surprise, settling on a thin streak of red just beneath her shoulder. “Huh. I didn't even feel it.”
Which either meant that the winds were that sharp… or her mind was really out of it.
Her eyes widened slightly when he took her arm into his hands. “I must have placed the vortex too close,” he muttered in disapproval as he inspected the wound closely. Brushing his sleeve across gently, he wiped off the dirt and soil that clung to her skin. “It doesn’t look too deep; but please let Barbara have a look, alright?” His gaze bore into hers as he spoke, his tone unusually serious.
She could only nod dumbly in response. “Okay.”
Then a loud, despairing wail cut through the air.
“My prototypes!”
Lumine sighed.
Thankfully, they still got paid.
Their next odd job was assisting a botany survey, just beyond the shores of Cider Lake. With Venti unavailable for the day, they decided to keep themselves a little closer to the city.
“Okay it’s just flowers this time,” Paimon said. “Surely it can’t be that bad.”
Lumine’s brow twitched. “Let’s not tempt fate, shall we?”
But fate had ears, so naturally their flower cataloging walk turned into a desperate race to outrun a particularly angry and persistent pack of Whopperflowers.
“I told you that was the wrong one!” Paimon shrieked, tumbling out of the way of a ball of flaming pollen.
“They all looked the same, alright?!” Lumine hollered back.
“Ugh, why does this keep happening to us?!”
“Less talk, more run!”
Lumine twisted out of the way of another fireball, the shot narrowly missing the stack of highly flammable papers and pressed flowers in her arms. A yelp, and she yanked Paimon forward, nearly causing the fairy to drop a matching stack of papers in her own grip.
Again, a burn wasn’t going to kill her, and Whopperflowers weren’t nearly as dangerous compared to everything she'd had to face. But between fighting unburdened and needing to protect rather delicate pieces of cargo, booking it seemed far smarter.
And damn it, she wasn't going to live it down if a group of homicidal cabbages stopped her from getting paid.
They tore down the paths leading to the city in a mad scramble, muscles pumping and their lungs aflame. Mercifully, the commotion drew the attention of nearby patrolling knights. A quick barking of orders, a flash of steel, and the murderous plants were quickly put into the dirt. Or back into the dirt, she supposed.
Lumine — dress rumpled and hair askew — slammed down the crumpled stacks of papers onto the reception desk. Paimon hung limp on her shoulder, utterly winded and unable to muster more than a groan. Katheryne greeted the pair with a welcoming smile, her receptionist’s candor completely unaffected.
“Ah, wonderful! Did you run into any issues?”
“No,” she bit out.
“Noted! Do remember to leave any feedback you have in the box; the Guild appreciates your efforts to improve our service!”
“Another time.” Lumine swiped the satchel of mora and turned on her heel.
She was, under no circumstances, leaving any evidence of her nearly getting eaten by vegetables.
“Okay, balloon installation,” Paimon gestured sharply, an undertone of desperation to her words. “Inside the city. With walls. And knights.”
Lumine nodded. “Exactly.”
“So nothing’s gonna-–”
Lumine slapped a hand onto the fairy’s mouth.
Venti lifted a brow in confusion, genuine concern building in his voice. “Uh, you two alright?”
“Perfectly fine!” They barked in unison.
He watched in growing perplexity as they handled the balloons like live bombs, stringing them along the roof like they were hanging wreaths on their own graves. Still, they chugged along, so he decided to let it be.
Only after every single one had gone up, did the pair dare to breathe.
Venti clasped his hands behind his back, surveying the rows of balloons like a satisfied patron.
“There.” He grinned proudly. “A job well done, I’d say!”
“The heck you mean ‘well-done’ like you helped at all?” Paimon grumbled. “We were the ones climbing up and down all day!”
Lumine rolled her eyes as she slumped against the wall. “Paimon, you literally didn’t need to climb a ladder at all.” Tired hands massaged her aching legs.
“And I played the crucial role of an emotional support bard!” Venti argued with a bright grin. “I’d argue my background music made things easier.”
The fairy harrumphed, turning her nose up at the pair. Only for her to catch one balloon wreath hanging at an odd angle along a roof overhang.
“Ah darn it, that one slipped out again.” She zipped toward the offending piece, reaching to push it back into place.
“Wait, Paimon don’t–”
It exploded.
The blast snapped the line, tension whipping through the row.
The rest followed like dominos.
Paimon stared blankly at the torn ribbons of rubber hanging limply from the roof.
Lumine’s soul left her body.
“MOTHER. FU–!”
“So,” Venti sing-songed. “What did we learn today?”
Lumine mumbled into her forearms. “That balloons are cursed and the universe hates me.”
“Oh come now,” he let out a breathless chuckle. “You guys finished it regardless. And you got paid.”
He got a garbled growl in answer.
The sun had begun to set, splashing amber across the brick walls and cobbled streets. The faint sounds of music and merriment began to lilt through the air, the city winding down from the day’s business.
A picturesque moment, one that Lumine could not appreciate because, well.
Paimon laid on her lap out cold, completely worn out. She couldn’t blame the fairy — the second round of work had been far more draining than the first.
Then, she felt a hand brush across her lowered head. “There there,” his voice drifted into her ear. “You did your best.”
Still, there was a hesitance there. She could feel his hand hovering just above an unseen threshold. Unsure. Asking.
The gears in Lumine’s mind turned.
Then, exhaling a slow, measured breath, she angled herself towards him.
And the full weight of his hand rested on the crown of her head.
The warmth of it seeped into her skin, grounding and rushing all at once.
It was… nice.
She remained still, feeling his fingers carding through her hair. The sound of wind chimes tinkling in the breeze filled the air.
After a while, his voice came to her once again. “How about taking a break tomorrow?”
She turned, a single eye peeking at him from under her hair.
“You’re technically still on vacation,” he reminded her. “And you’ve worked hard enough already.”
“Well…” she mumbled uncertainly.
“The mora can wait a little.” Then, with a mild lilt of playfulness, he shifted. “Indulge my curiosity then. What do you usually like to do?”
She turned his words over in her head, the idea running through her mind in a loop.
Her brows furrowed. It was a very simple question.
Thus, the fact that she couldn’t immediately answer…
Stars, how long has it been since she last enjoyed something?
Lumine forced an exhale, turning her ear to the tinkle of chimes in the breeze. There was no war here, no ticking clock she needed to outrun. She flexed her fingers, her toes, shoulders; tensing and loosening each and every muscle group she could fix her mind on as she prepared her answer.
“I… like sparring, I guess?”
Venti snorted lightly. “Perhaps it’s providence that Paimon is currently out cold.”
Lumine huffed in mild indignation. “If I’m recovered enough to outrun flame-spewing murderflowers…”
He reached to ruffle her hair again, his movements smoother this time. It warmed her skin to the touch. “I don’t doubt it,” he chuckled. “But how about we keep things in the spirit of vacationing?”
She thought about it once more.
“Fishing, then.”
Venti’s head angled. “Truly?”
“What?” she blurted. “I do enjoy things that don’t involve smacking shit around.”
“Don’t get me wrong, it’s a pleasant hobby to have.” His expression softened. “Relaxing the day away along a glittering shoreline, water lapping against the earth, unclouded blues above and below… it’s rather poetic.” Teal eyes practically glowed with fondness as he said his next words.
“It suits you.”
She felt her breath catch. The sincerity in his smile, the delight in his gaze; it was enough to send another wave of warmth up her neck.
Her lips moved before she could think better of it.
“Then… Can you come with me?”
He stilled, surprised.
Her mind stalled. “It’s– well–” Smooth as a landslide.
“Paimon’s going to be tired out and–”
Her face dropped into her palms. “Y-your company–” she mumbled through her fingers. “W–would be nice.”
Venti blinked rapidly, stunned into momentary silence. Even the faint breeze at their backs stilled, as if the winds themselves were holding their breath.
Then, a smile.
Small.
Bashful.
Boyish.
“…Yeah,” he said softly. “I’d like that.”
Something in her chest gave a heart-stopping, utterly traitorous flutter.
One that continued well after they parted ways.
Lumine studiously ignored Paimon’s needling till she fell asleep.
Morning light spilled across the water in pale gold ribbons, each ripple catching the glow and scattering it like fragments of a broken sunrise. Dragonflies drifted lazily above the surface, their wings glinting like shards of glass. A soft breeze rolled in from the shoreline, stirring the scent of fresh reeds and wildflowers, carrying it in gentle arcs across the lake.
A lone blonde laid on the grass, unmoving, her eyes fixed on the passing clouds above.
The winds blew lazily, unhurried and unbothered, as if time itself had tamed the verdant lands. To slow down. To just… breathe.
She shut her eyes, drawing in a small breath.
It struck her then, how not strange all this had begun to feel.
Her memories of home weren’t exactly concrete anymore. Not with the amount of time that’s passed. They were more like muted vignettes than vivid recollections, remembered more through her senses than her mind. The subtle yet stardustlike scent of celestial flowers, the downy texture of walking through lunar fields, the kaleidoscopic burst of colours as the atmosphere mingled with solar winds. The swooping rush of leaping off towering spires that lit up like the sun, the tranquil awe that came with tracing the paths of meteors against a backdrop of teal during starfall.
No world has ever come close to evoking those feelings. How could they, when they lacked the crucial elements that made home, well, home?
But now, as she lay beside the crystal-clear waters of Cider Lake — watching cotton-white clouds drift slowly through a canvas of blue, listening to the sounds of leaves rustling in the wind — it struck her.
The soft release of breath, the draining of tension as her back touched the soil, the bubble of stillness that settled in her chest as her gaze focused skyward.
It wasn’t the same, of course. The sky wasn’t the right colour, for starters. Nor the smells of the grassy fields and earthy soils beneath her fingers.
But… It was close. Close enough to get her thinking.
Another breeze swept in, carrying the scent of windwheel asters — sweet and clean, brushing warm across her cheek. Her lungs filled with the floral freshness as she sank deeper into the moment.
A sudden splash cracked the quiet.
Then–
“Aw man,” a voice whined aloud, breaking the tranquil air. “I almost had it!”
She sat up, her eyes falling on a lone youth by the lake’s shore, his boyish features curled into one of glum defeat.
Her lips pulled upwards despite herself.
“You reeled in too early.”
“Did I?” He frowned at the empty hook swinging on his rod. A tattered piece of bait — a pitiful fragment really — hung from it by a thread. “I could have sworn I had a bite.”
“They don’t always bite down fully on the first nibble. Wait till the rod drags a little from your pipping. That’s how you can help the hook dig in.”
“You say that.” A fresh piece of bait replaced the remains of the prior one. “But how do you actually feel that through all this weight on the rod?”
Lumine hummed. “... Experience?”
He swung the rod towards the lake, only to have his hat batted right off his head with a comical yelp. Hook and bait sailed uselessly into the shallows. He froze, eyes wide, mouth hanging open in pure bafflement.
To her own surprise, laughter bubbled up easily. First a snicker, like a breath of suppressed mirth. The look on his face morphed into one that could have rivaled a kicked puppy.
True laughter slipped past her lips then. Full, light, and enough to make her sides hurt.
She couldn’t remember the last time it had come this freely.
The final, tiny knot in her chest — long buried deep, as old as every weary day she’d spent in this world — unfurled.
Dusting his hat off, she patted it back on to his head. Soft, ebon locks brushed past her touch. “There, there,” she chortled. “You’re swinging a fishing rod, Venti. Not an axe.”
The pout deepened. “I’m trying,” he whined.
She shook her head and moved behind him. “Here,” she murmured, reaching around to adjust the angle of his arms. “Relax a little.”
He tensed — a tiny, startled hitch of breath — but it went unnoticed. Her gaze was intense, analytical; focused entirely on practical instruction: warm palms guiding his elbows, gentle nudges repositioning his grip, the kind of familiarity born from years of training others.
“Don’t lock your elbows, it’ll impede your movements.”
He swallowed. “Okay.”
“And if you shift from your hips, it helps transfer the power. That’ll—”
Then her mind caught up to her hands.
Her words faltered.
Her palms stilled on his arms.
Oh. Oh.
He turned his head slightly, enough that she could see the flush warming the tips of his ears.
“Hey,” he murmured, voice softer than the breeze. “It’s okay.” A crooked smile — half reassurance, half flustered — tugged at his lips.
This close, Lumine could feel it:
The heat of his skin.
The quiet hush of his breath.
The impossible depth of gentleness glistening within his gaze.
And the unmistakable, immutable fact… that he wasn’t pulling away.
“So Teach…” he whispered, his breath almost catching on his throat. “Think you could help me figure this out so I don’t decapitate my hat?”
Lumine blinked. Then, nodding stiffly, she moved his arms — guiding each shift of his elbows, each angle of his wrists — slowly miming the proper motion from start to finish. His arms followed obediently beneath her touch, still a little tense but ultimately steady.
With a final flick of his wrist, the hook sailed cleanly into the water, the furthest he’s managed all morning.
“There,” he grinned, a breathless chuckle escaping him. “How’d I do?”
She should be imploding. Her heart was drumming up a storm on her ribs, and she was certain her ears could ignite the air around her anytime now.
But with the bard in a similar state, bright with a grin as infectious as it was lopsided, she could only mirror him.
“... Not bad.”
They actually manage to fish up a decent catch.
“They” meaning Lumine; Venti was simply happy to not have lost all their bait.
“Ah, all in a day’s work,” Venti chuckled, looking far too pleased with the small but respectable pile of fish at the blonde’s side. A small fire crackled before them, and the aroma of grilling fat drifted pleasantly through the air. “I can see why you enjoy this. Is that not the picture of satisfaction?”
Lumine snorted. “No need to butter me up. There’s a portion for you.”
A gasp. “For little ol’ me? You shouldn’t have!”
She rolled her eyes. “Take it before I change my mind.”
He flopped obediently next to her with a goofy grin. “Yes ma’am, teacher ma’am.”
She shook her head and dug into her fish. They ate in comfortable silence. Every now and then, a shift of a shoulder or twitch of a leg brought the edges of his clothes brushing against her.
Just hours prior, she might have tensed.
But his easy humming beside her — faint, soft, thoughtless — kept any tension from gathering.
It was… grounding.
And ultimately, rather nice.
“So,” he asked between bites, “what was the toll that our resident fairy demanded for her bed rest today?”
Lumine eyed her remaining catch. “Take a wild guess.”
He barked out a short, merry laugh.
“But now that I think about it,” she added, inspecting the pile of fish again, “it might not be enough.”
“I’d be skeptical, but after the first few days of this vacation? I’m inclined to agree.” His shoulders shuddered dramatically. “How have you managed to fund her appetite all this while?”
“A combination of hunting, gathering, and taking jobs no one wants.” She paused. “And a surplus from a certain ginger asshole back in Liyue.”
“Ah yes, this ‘asshole’ I’ve heard so much about,” he snickered. “The old blockhead speaks rather fondly of him.”
She cringed. “You’d think he hadn’t tried to drown an entire city. Or steal from the Exuvia. Or just been a general pain in the ass.”
Venti huffed a soft laugh, eyes half-lidded with centuries-old amusement. “Morax has many virtues,” he sighed. “Consistent logic is not one of them.”
“Then I suppose I can see why he’d take a shine to him.” She handed him another portion of fish, which he took in wordless thanks. “Childe is as earnestly crazy as they come.”
He nudged her shoulder playfully. “Is that fondness I detect?”
“Please, I’d rather eat rocks.”
He chuckled, letting the topic slide. His shoulder remained pressed to hers, and he noted with faint giddiness that she did not pull back. Instead, she wordlessly pressed back against him ever so gently, forming a warm, solid weight at his side. The fire crackled like a tiny hearth in the quiet.
“So,” he said after a while. “How many more do you think you’ll need to bring back?”
She held her chin. “At least four. Or six. I need to thank Amber for hanging out with Paimon too.”
The idea sprung to mind like a turn of the breeze.
“In that case, want to try something fun?”
She raised a brow.
“Let’s see who can catch more.”
The brow went higher. “You want to challenge me.”
“Of course,” he said, face schooled into earnest innocence. “What better way to prove your lessons have actually worked?”
She snorted. “You’re delusional.”
“Oh?” A sliver of mischief curled into his voice. “Or perhaps I’ve just been holding back?”
Whatever suspicion she still held died a swift, undignified death. Lumine’s lips pulled into a smirk. “...You’re going to regret it.”
There we go.
“Alternating turns, first to six.” He outlined. “Any extra fish goes to the Knights for a fireside roast.”
“You’re on.”
Lumine took off to the shoreline, rod and spare bait in hand.
Venti trailed after her, fond laughter blooming on his face.
True to her skill, it did not take long for the fish to begin biting.
But of course, the competition was never the point.
He watched her, the way she held herself with a hunter’s stillness, rod in hand, her eyes gleaming with anticipation. That same gleam that brightened when her line pulled taut, and the laughter in her smile as she battled the unfortunate critter. The triumphant grin blooming on her as she dragged her prize to shore, and the equally intense yet amusing litany of insults she hurled when her next attempt failed.
To think that something as simple as fishing could tease out such a wonderful range of emotions from her. Against the backdrop of a clear sky and fresh breeze, it was impossible to stop a warm, stupid smile from stretching across his face.
“Gah.” Her voice cut through his reverie. She stared at her empty hook in disappointment. “Your turn then.”
He hummed, lip curling upward into the perfect picture of innocence as she turned her back to reset her line.
A whoosh–
And a fish flopped onto the grass at his feet.
“Behold!” He announced with flourish.
Her head snapped back around. “Venti.”
“What?” He flashed a brilliant grin. “One fish landed, fair and square.”
“Venti, I can see elemental energy.”
His grin remained. “So?”
“So, I know you cheated.”
“Cheated?” he gasped theatrically. “Our wager was to catch fish. I caught a fish — and quite efficiently, I might add.”
Lumine’s brow twitched.
Without warning, she flicked her wrist, sending a swirl of Anemo rippling across the water. Fish leapt out in panic, flopping onto the grass. She turned back to him with the most smug look he’s seen on her yet.
He let out a chuckle, the sound slow and laced with faux danger. “My my,” he began in a sing-song voice. The winds swirled around him in answer, rustling leaves and stirring dust. “Now who’s challenging who?”
The grin he got in answer was part smug, part play, and all teeth.
The lake began to churn.
Along the treeline, a lone girl with silver blonde hair wandered, humming a jaunty little tune. Her bright red satchel bounced against her hip while her cherry red garb fluttered with every hop-skip step she took. The sun was out. The breeze was cool. A perfect day for adventure.
She was about to head toward her first secret spot when the sound of splashing water and pitched voices drifted through the woods.
She stopped, her elf-like ears twitching towards the source.
Up ahead, the Honorary Knight and the funny bard were standing knee-deep in the lake, shouting half-laughs, half-challenges at each other. Water splashed up in curtains between them. Fish were launched into the air with each splash, some flopping helplessly across the shore.
The girl’s eyes brightened as she bounced on her feet.
She might not have known what this game was…
But she knew exactly how to help them win.
"So."
Jean folded her hands atop the desk. Her stare was a level, tired, utterly unimpressed line.
“I stepped out to the Seneschal’s Chambers for five minutes,” she muttered. “Five.”
The Cavalry Captain at least had the presence of mind to wince rather than laugh. He silently patted himself on the back for keeping Klee outside of the office.
“To be fair,” he began. “No one was hurt.”
Jean’s gaze sharpened. “There’s a hole in the shoreline, Kaeya.”
“That also managed to dislodge that debris the Fishing Association’s been complaining about for months,” he added, hands raised in a placating gesture. “So, technically–”
“–you know what, forget it.” the Acting Grandmaster groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose in surrender.
Tired, aqua eyes fell on the room’s two other occupants. The Honorary Knight — thoroughly mortified, utterly soaked, and faintly smelling of fish. And the city’s most prominent bard — dripping puddles onto the carpet, grass plastered to his hat, and wearing the worst approximation of innocence she’s ever witnessed in her entire career.
Jean sighed deeply. She would pray for patience, but the patron of her prayers was too busy trying not to laugh his head off in her office.
Deciding to pick her battles for the day, she settled on a question. “Is Klee okay, at least?”
“Perfectly unharmed,” Kaeya replied smoothly. “And very sorry.”
“... Just tell her to remain in her room for today. Until everything blows over.”
A sharp snort echoed through the room. Jean quietly lamented her choice of words.
Her piercing gaze flicked back to the other two. The plea within them remained unspoken. She supposed the pair of quiet nods counted as cooperation — even if one of them looked far too amused for her liking.
When they were finally dismissed from the office like a pair of truant youths, Venti let out what he felt was the cackle of a lifetime. It bounced down the hallways, lively and strong, wrapping even the pink-faced Lumine up in a blanket of amusement.
“In all my years,” he said, half wheezing and still clutching his sides. “Winds steady me.”
“Jean looked like she wanted to smack you.” Lumine shook her head in disbelief. “Jean.”
“I know!” He doubled over again. “Oh, Old Ragnvindr would have killed me if I did this back then.”
“Who knows, the current one might too.”
She was met with the dumbest grin she’d ever seen.
Then she felt a warm hand slip into hers, gently tugging her toward the Headquarters’ doors. She looked back at him quizzically, even as her fingers curled instinctively around his. Mirth and affection twinkled within his eyes.
“I think we’ve reached Jean’s heart-attack quota for today,” he snickered. “And we have a fish delivery to complete.”
It was hard not to feel her heart sink a little. Right.
A gentle squeeze. “Also…”
She looked back at him.
“I look forward to doing this again,” he added, his voice now a tad shyer. “Minus the explosions, of course.”
Lumine felt her heart stutter.
But ultimately, she managed a small, if equally bashful smile. “Yeah.”
Once more, Lumine found herself looking forward to tomorrow.
The Mondstadt Cartography Department received an urgent filing to redraw the city’s maps of Cider Lake that day.
The Fishing Association, on the other hand, happily closed the filed ticket that had been sitting on the backburner.